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Full text of "The works of William Shakespeare : the text formed from a new collation of the early editions : to which are added all the original novels and tales on which the plays are founded : copious archaeological annotations on each play : an essay on the formation of the text : and a life of the poet"

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S. A. R. LE DUG D'AUMALE, Orleans House, Twickenham. 












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S. LEIGH SOTHEBY', Esq., The Woodlands, Norwood. 

1. Exterior and Interior of the Crown Inn, Eocliester, the scene of a 
portion of the comedy of Henry the Fourth . . Frontispiece. 

3. Memorandum of the Statement of Augustine Phillipps respecting 
the Play of Richard the Second, from the Original in the State Paper 
OlRce . . . . . . .5 

3. Pacsimile of Dr. Simon Porman's Account of the Eepresentation 
of the Play of King Eichard the Second at the Globe Tllieatre in April, 
1611 . . . . . . .8 

4. Note of the Examination of Sir Gilly Meyrick respecting the Play 

of Eichard the Second, from the Original in the State Paper OflB.ce . 91 

5. Meeting of the Earl of Salisbury and Eichard the Second, and the 
Interview between Bolingbroke and Eichard at Plint Castle, from Creton's 
Manuscript Chronicle . . . . .130 

6. Ancient Book-Cover of Italian Workmanship . .153 

7. The Earl of Salisbury landing at Conway, and the Parliament 
Scene at the Deposition of Eichard the Second, from Creton's Manuscript 
Chronicle. . . . . . .176 

8. Notices of Eichard the Second, and other Plays, from the Original 
Entries on the Eegisters of the Stationers' Company . . . 219 

9. Entry of the Pirst Part of Henry the Fourth, &c., from the Original 
Eegistry of the Company of Stationers, 1598-1603 . . . 24^8 

10. Facsimile of the first Page of the ancient manuscript Copy of the 
Play of Henry the Fourth, which was made for Sir Edward Dering . 271 





The subject of the deposition and murder of Richard the 
Second, and the ascension of Henry Bohngbroke to the throne 
of England, was employed for dramatic purposes a considerable 
time before the publication of Shakespeare's drama in 1597. 
This earlier play had a title which involved both the assassination 
of Richard the Second and the success of Henry the Fourth ; it 
is sometimes alluded to as the play of Henry the Fourth, and at 
others as that of Richard the Second ; and is mentioned early in 
1601 as the playe of Kyng Harry the Fourth and the kyllyng 
of Kyng Richard the Second." No copy of this production is 
known to exist, but it was one probably of the earlier dramas 
preceding the commencement of Shakespeare's career as an 
author, for it is described by the players in February, 1601, as 
so old, and so long out of use, that they should have small or 
no company at it." There is other testimony to the same 
effect. The main incident of the play was, in all probability, 
the deposition of Richard, and it was in reference to this that 
some of the persons who were engaged in the conspiracy headed 
by the Earl of Essex in 1601, which had for its object the dis- 
placing of Queen Elizabeth from her throne, selected it for 
representation at the Globe theatre, for the twofold purpose of 
sedition and amusement, on the night immediately preceding 
the rebellion. The players at the Globe, who were the com- 
pany of which Shakespeare himself was a member, were induced 
by some of the leading conspirators, a few days before, to consent 
to act the old drama of Richard the Second, and, in con- 




sideration of an expectation it would not prove attractive, they 
paid the company not a large hrihe, hut a sum that might be 
supposed fairly to represent the anticipated deficiency. At the 
trial of the persons concerned in this rebellion, it was stated that 
Sir Gilly Meyriek was the individual who negociated with the 
players, but the probability seems to be that, if present on the 
occasion, he was only one of several who had an interview with 
them on the subject. In the official account of the conspiracy 
entitled, "A Declaration of the Practises and Treasons attempted 
and committed by Robert late Earle of Essex and his Complices," 
published in the same year, 1601, it is stated that, in order to 
prove Meyriek privy to the seditious attempt, it was given in 
evidence, — " That the afternoone before the rebellion, Merrieke, 
with a great company of others, that afterwards were all in the 
action, had procured to bee played before them the play of De- 
posing of King Richard the Second ; neither was it easuall, but a 
play bespoken by Merrick ; and not so onely, but when it was 
told him by one of the players that the play was olde, and they 
should have losse in playing it, because fewe would come to it, 
there was fourty shillings extraordinarie given to play it, and so 
thereupon playd it was ; so earnest hee was to satisfie his eyes 
with the sight of that tragedie which hee thought soone after 
his lord should bring from the stage to the state ; but that God 
turned it upon their owne heads." 

A similar account is given in a contemporary narrative of the 
trial of Essex, from which it appears that the Attorney-General, 
in arguing the case against Sir Gilly Meyriek, observed, — "the 
story of Henry the Fourth being set forth in a play, and in that 
play there being set forth the killing of the king upon a stage, 
the Friday before. Sir Gilly and some others of the earl's train 
having an humour to see a play, they must needs have the play 
of Henry the Fourth ; the players told them that was stale, they 
should get nothing by playing of that, but no play else would 
serve, and Sir Gilly gives fourty shillings to Philips the player 
to play this, besides whatsoever he could get," State Trials, ed. 
18l6, i. 1445, from a manuscript formerly belonging to Peter 
le Neve, sold at the auction of his library in 1731, Catalogue, p. 
93, art. 378. Another account of a like character is preserved 
by Camden, who thus writes, speaking of Meyriek, — " et pro- 
pugnasset eocoletam tragoediam de tragica abdicatione regis 
Rieardi Seeundi in publico theatro coram conjuratis data pecunia 
agi curasset ; quod ab eo factum intcrpretati simt jurisconsulti, 

St^vcrt^. /rorn the CHfjmal m the Statr Paper Office . 

ai.fiedfot'^ CtE««. OeiTBiP- Sawa. 




quasi ilkid pridie in scena agi spectarent, quod postridic in 
Elizabetha abdicanda agendum," Camdeni Annales, 1615, p. 
246. Mericke is accused for giving mony, and causing an olde 
obsolete tragedy of tbe deposing of Ricbard tbe Second to be 
acted publiquely before tbe conspirators, wbicb tbe lawyers did 
judge of, as if he bad sbewen tbeni now tbat upon tbe stage, 
wbicb be would bave tbem act tbe next day upon tbe Queene," 
translation, ed. 1625. In addition to tbese evidences, tbere are 
preserved in tbe State-Paper Office, wbere tbey were recently 
discovered by Mr. Collier, tbe original depositions of Augustnie 
Pbillips, one of tbe actors, and of Sir Gilly Meyrick, taken before 
tbe Cbief Justices of tbe Queen's Bencb and Common Pleas. 
Tbese papers are so exceedingly curious, tbat tliey must be 
quoted at lengtb. Tbe first is entitled, ^' Tbe exam, of Augustyne 
Pbillypps, Servant unto tbe L. Cbamberleyne, and one of bys 
players, taken tbe xviijtb of Februarij, 1600, upon bys otbe ;" 
and is as follows, — " He sayetb tbat on Fryday last was sennygbt, 
or Thursday, Sir diaries Pryce, or Jostlyne Pryce, and tbe L. 
Montegle, witb some tbre more, spake to some of tbe players, 
in tbe presens of tbys examiiiant to bave tbe playc of tbe de- 
posy ng and kyllyng of Kyng llycbard tbe Second to be played 
tbe Saterday next, promysyng to geve tbem xl.s more tben tbeir 
ordynary to play yt ; wben tbys examinant and bys fellowes were 
determyned to bave played some otber play, boldyng tbat play 
of Kyng Rycbard to be so old, and so long out of yous (use), 
tbat tbey should bave small or no cumpany at yt. But at 
theire request, this examinant and his fellowes were content to 
play yt tlie- Saterday, and bave theise xl.s more then theire 
ordynary for yt, and so played yt accordyngly." This statement 
is signed by Phillips, and attested by Chief Justice Popbam, 
Sir E. Anderson, and Edward Fenner, one of the judges of tbe 
Court of Queen's Bench. Tbe name of Sir Gilly Meyrick is not 
mentioned, but be may, notwithstanding his own statement to 
the contrary made in self-defence, have been one of tbe three who 
are not named. Tbe statement of this person is entitled, " The 
examinacion of Sir Gelly Meryke, taken the xvij.tli of February, 
1600," tbat is, 1600-1, and is as follows,—" He sayetb that, 
upon Saterday last was sennygbt, be dyned at Gunters in the 
company of tbe L. Montegle, Sir Christoffer Blont, Sir Charles 
Pereye, Ellys Jones and Edward Busbell, and who else be re- 
membretli not ; and after dynner tbat day, and at tbe motyon of 
Sir Charles Percy and tbe rest, they went all together to tbe 





Globe, over the water, wber the L. Cliamberlen's men use to 
phiye, and were tlier sumwhat before the playe began, Sir 
Charles tellyng them that the playe wold be of Harry the 
Whether Sir John Davyes wer ther, or not, this examinant can 
not tell, but he saved he wold be ther, vf he cold. He can not 
tell who procured that playe to be played at that tyme, except yt 
were Sir Charles Percy; but, as he thynketh, yt was Sir Charles 
Percye. There he was at the same playe, and cam in sumwhat 
after yt was begone ; and the playe was of Kyng Harry the and of the kyllyng of Kyng Richard the Second, played by 
the L. Chamberlens players." This affidavit is witnessed by Chief 
Justice Popham and Justice Fenner. Shakespeare's name does 
not appear in these transactions, but, as he was then a leading 
member of the company at the Globe theatre, he was doubt- 
lessly acquainted with them, even if he were not present at the 
interview with the conspirators. He was on friendly terms with 
Phillips, the actor who appears to have conducted the nego- 
ciation ; and, moreover, Lord Southampton, the patron of the 
great dramatist, was involved in the conspiracy. 

During the few years that closed the eventful reign of Queen 
Elizabeth, the subject of the deposition of Richard the Second 
bore so close an analogy, in the important respects of the wishes 
of those who desired a repetition of a similar occurrence, it was 
an exceedingly dangerous theme for either a poet or historian. 
Play ward, who, in 1599, published his account of the fall of 
Richard under the title of, " The First Part of the Life and 
Raigne of King Henrie the Fourth, extending to the end of the 
tirst yeare of his raigne," and imprudently dedicated it to the 
Earl of Essex, displeased the court so seriously, that he was se- 
verely censured in the Star Chamber, and committed to prison. 
Queen Elizabeth was so sensitive on the subject, that, in an 
interview with Lambarde, who was exhibiting a work on the 
public records, his Pandecta Rotulorum, on opening at the reign 
of Richard, said, in allusion to his being deposed, and to the 
recent rebellion of the Earl of Essex, " I am Richard the 
Second, knowe yee not that ?," to which he replied, " Such a 
Avicked immagination was determined and attempted by a most 
unkind gentleman ; the most adorned creature that ever your 
IMajestie made." The rejoinder of the Queen is very remark- 
able, — " He that will forget God, will also forget his bene- 
factors ; this tragedy was played fourtie times in open streets 
and houses." The concluding sentence is curious, if it can 




refer to the old play on the subject of the deposition, which may 
have been popular and even issued in a printed form, for Lord 
Bacon can hardly refer to Shakespeare's drama when he writes, 
— " and for your comparison with Richard the Second, I see 
you follow the example of them that brought him upon the 
stage, and into print, in Queen Elizabeth's time." It is possible 
that Bacon here intends a double allusion, the first to the play, 
and the second to the history of Sir John Hay ward. In 
Shakespeare's Richard the Second, the scene of the deposition 
occupies but a small space ; it cannot be considered the leading 
feature of the tragedy, which, moreover, includes much on the 
indefeasible rights of kings that could not fail to please the 
friends of the reigning sovereign, so that, even in its complete 
state, it could not well have been the play selected by the par- 
tisans of Essex. On the other hand, the publishers of Richard 
the Second in 1597, the year succeeding the promulgation of 
the Papal bull exciting the subjects of Elizabeth to take up 
arms against her, might well have been inclined to suppress the 
portion of the drama which specially referred to the tender sub- 
ject of Richard's deposition ; which, as has been noticed, was 
only attempted to be treated upon by an historian under a decep- 
tive title. It seems unlikely that such a scene should have 
been subsequently written by Shakespeare, as a new addition, 
and the speech of the Abbot of Westminster immediately suc- 
ceeding it, — ''A woful pageant have we here beheld" — seems 
better suited to the perfect copy of the drama, than to the act 
as it appears in the first edition. At a later period, the state of 
public affairs allowed the insertion of the omitted scene to take 
place without any fear of unpleasant consequences accruing to 
the publisher. 

There is a curious letter from Sir Walter Raleigh to Secretary 
Cecil, discovered by Mr. Sainsbury in the State-Paper OflSce, 
which may possibly have reference to one of the plays on the 
subject of Richard the Second. It was written at Weymouth 
on the sixth of July, 1597, just before the writer set out on the 
naval expedition, known as the Island Voyage, which was 
commanded by the Earl of Essex ; and in the course of it, he 
says, — " I acquaynted the Lord Generall with your letter to 
mee, and your kynd acceptance of your enterteynemente ; hee 
was also wonderfull merry att the consait of Richard the Second." 
The allusion is obscure, and, in the absence of further evidence, 
any explanation of it must be conjectural ; but as the Lord 




General referred to was the Earl of Essex, it is possible that the 
occurrences of the reig-n of Richard the Second, as related in 
some play, had been the subject of conversation. It is difficult 
to imagine that there are any scenes in Shakespeare's tragedy, 
that could have given occasion to the burst of merriment referred 
to by Raleigh. 

It is a curious circumstance that there was another play on 
the subject of the reign of Richard the Second, and bearing the 
same title, which differed altogether from Shakespeare's tragedy, 
and was most likely unconnected with the older drama played 
before the conspirators in 1601. This play was seen at the 
Globe theatre in the year 1611, by Dr. Simon Forman, whose 
autograph description of the performance is still preserved in the 
Ashmolean Museum at Oxford ; whence it appears that the 
incidents referred to events, some historical, and others fanciful, 
spreading over nearly the entire reign of Richard the Second, 
from the period of Jack Straw's rebellion to the succession of 
Henry the Fourth. The deposition and murder of Richard may 
incidentally have been noticed, or the facts tacitly admitted, but 
they could scarcely have formed prominent features in the play, 
or Forman would surely have made further allusion to events of 
so momentous a character ; and, as we know that, in the old 
play, " the killing of the king was set forth upon the stage," 
and cannot but believe that the fact of the drama being selected 
by the followers of Essex is sufficient to show that the deposition 
was at least distinctly brought forward, it may be concluded 
that the play exhibited in 1611 w^as a separate performance by 
some other author. It may also be remarked, in confirmation 
of this opinion, that a dramatic production, which was so far 
obsolete in 1601, that the actors at the Globe hesitated to 
perform it, was unlikely to have been revived by the same 
company as late as 1611. The account given by Forman, 
which is here printed at length, is very curious. It is preceded, 
in the original manuscript, by the following memorandum, — 
"In Richard the 2 at the Glob, 1611, the 30. of Aprill, 
Tuesday," — 

Hemember tlierin howe Jack Straw, by his overmoch boldnes, not beinge 
pollilick nor suspecting anye thinge, was soddenly at Smithfeld Bars stabbed by 
Walwortli, the Major of London, and soe he and his whoUe army was overthrowen ; 
therfore in snch a case or the like, never admit any parly without a bar betwen, 
for a man cannot be to wise, nor kepe hiraselfe to safe. Also remember howe the 
Duke of Gloster, the Erell of Arundell, Oxford and others, crossing the kinge in 
his humor about the Duke of Erland and Bushy, wer glad to fly and raise an hoste 




of men, and beinge in his castell, howe the D. of Erland cam by nighte to betray 
him with 300 men, but havinge pryvie warninge therof, kept his gates faste, and 
wold not suffer the eniraie to enter, which went back again with a flie in his eare, 
and after was slainte by the Errell of Arundell in the battelL — Remember also 
when the Duke and Arundell cam to London with their army, Kyng Richard 
came forth to them and met him, and gave them fair wordes, and promised them 
pardon, and that all should be well yf they wold discharge their army. Upon 
whose promises and fair speaches, they did yt ; and after, the king byd them all to 
a banket, and soe betraid them, and cut of their heades, &c., because they had 
not his pardon under his hand and sealle before, but his worde. — Remember 
therin also howe the Duck of Lankaster pryvily contryved all villany to set them 
all together by the ears, and to mak the nobilyty to envy the kinge, and mislyke 
of him and his governmentes, by which means he made his own sonn king, which 
was Henry Bulhnbrock. — Remember also howe the Duk of Lankaster asked a 
wise man wher himself should ever be kinge, and he told him no, but his sonn 
should be a kinge ; and when he had told him, lie hanged him up for his labor, 
because he should not brute yt abrod or speke therof to others. This was a 
pollicie in the commonwealthes opinion, but I sai yt was a villains parte, and a 
Judas kisse to hange the man for telling him the truth. Beware by this example 
of noblemen and of their fair wordes, and sai lyttell to them, lest they doe the like 
by thee or fthy good will. 

The author of the play liere described could not have fol- 
lowed the chronicles very literally, and perhaps some of the 
incidents he employed were altogether imaginary. When 
Shakespeare adopted the events of a portion of the same 
historical period for the subject of his drama, he pursued a 
stricter method, adhering, with the exception of chronological 
anachronisms and a few deviations from fact of minor impor- 
tance, to the narrative of Holinshed with singular fidelity. 
Amongst the variations from the latter that are prominent in the 
tragedy, may be mentioned the scenes relating to the pro- 
ceedings of Richard in North Wales, which differ considerably 
from those narrated by the chronicler. Thus, instead of the 
relation which concludes with Richard falling into the snare 
artfully contrived by Bolingbroke for the sake of obtaining the 
command of his person, in the play the latter is represented as 
conferring with Richard in a submissive manner at Flint Castle. 
It should also be noticed that some of the transactions which 
really took place in the parliament summoned, under new writs, 
in the name of Henry the Fourth, are introduced by Shakespeare 
as occurring in that which confirmed and proclaimed the 
deposition of Richard the Second. The queen, who was then 
only twelve years old, is, for the sake of dramatic effect, 
converted into a woman, endued with the thoughts, feelings, 
and expressions of maturity. With these exceptions, Shakespeare 
adopted the statements of Holinshed with few variations of 
IX. 2 




importance, and, as far as has yet been shown, he does 
not appear to have had recourse to any other authority. 
There are a few similarities of expression and thought to be 
traced between passages in the tragedy and others in Daniel's 
poem on the Civil Wars between tlie two Houses of Lancaster 
and York, the first four books of which were published in 1595, 
but they are not sufficiently striking to be considered fairly as 
distinctly proving any acquaintance of either author with the 
work of the other. The following portions of the chronicle of 
Ilolinshed, from the edition of 1587, will be sufficient to show 
the nature of Shakespeare's obligations for his facts to the old 
historian ; while the narrative of the latter, in those parts of our 
extracts which were not followed by the poet, will explain much 
in the position of the public affairs of the time that is essential 
to a correct understanding of many allusions in the tragedy. 

1398. — The king then came downe to Lichfield, and there held a roiall 
Christmasse, which being ended, he tooke his journie towards Shrewesburie, where 
the parlement was appointed to begin in the quinden' of saint Hilarie, as before 
yee have heard. In which parlement there holden upon prorogation, for the love 
that the king bare to the gentlemen and commons of the shire of Chester, he 
caused it to be ordeined, that from thencefoorth it should be called and knowne 
by the name of the principalitie of Chester ; and herewith he intituled himselfe 
prince of Chester. He held also a roiall feast, keeping open houshold for all 
honest commers, during the which feast, he created five dukes and a duchesse, a 
marquesse, and foure carles. The carle of Derbie was created duke of Hereford, 
the earle of Notingham that was also earle marshall duke of Norfolke, the earle 
of Eutland duke of Aubemarle, the earle of Kent duke of Surrie, and the earle of 
Huntington duke of Excester ; the ladie Margaret marshall countesse of Norfolke, 
was created duchesse of Norfolke ; the earle of Summerset marques Dorset, the 
lord Spenser earle of Glocester, the lord Nevill surnamed Daurabie earle of 
"Westmerland, the lord William Scroope lord chamberleine earle of Wiltshire, and 
the lord Thomas Persie lord steward of the kings house earle of Worcester. And 
for the better maintenance of the estate of these noble men, whome he had thus 
advanced to higher degrees of honour, he gave unto them a great part of those 
lands that belonged to the duke of Glocester, the earles of Warwike, and Arundell. 
And now he was in good hope, that he had rooted up all plants of treason, and 
therefore cared lesse who might be his freend or his fo, than before he had doone, 
esteeming himselfe higher in degree than anie prince living, and so presumed 
further than ever his grandfather did, and tooke upon him to beare the armes of 
saint Edward, joining them unto his owne arraes. To conclude, whatsoever he 
then did, none durst speake a word contrarie thereunto. And yet such as Avere 
cheefe of his councell, were esteemed of the commons to be the woorst creatures 
that might be, as the dukes of Aumarle, Norfolke and Excester, the earle of 
AViltshire, sir John Bushie, sir William Bagot, and sir Thomas Greene ; which 
three last remembred were knights of the Bath, against whom the commons 
undoubtedlie bare great and privie hatred. — But now to proceed. In this parle- 
ment holden at ShrcMsburie, the lord Reginald Cobham, being a verie aged man, 
simple and upright in all his dealings, was condemned for none other cause, but 





for that in the eleventh yeere of the kings reigne he was appointed with other to 
be attendant about the king as one of his governours. The acts and ordinances 
also devised and established in the parlement liolden in the eleventh yeare were 
likewise repealed. Moreover, in this parlement at Shrewesburie, it was decreed 
that the lord John Cobham should be sent into the ile of Gernesie, there to 

remaine in exile, having a small portion assigned him to live upon. The king V 
so wrought and brought things about, that he obteined the whole power of both 
houses to be granted to certeine persons, as to John duke of Lancaster, Edmund 
duke of Yorke, Edmund duke of Aumarle, Thomas duke of Surrie, John duke of 
Excester, John marquesse Dorset, Roger earle of March, John earle of Salisburie, 
and Henrie earle of Northumberland, Thomas earle of Glocester, and AVilliam 
earle of Wiltshire, John Hussie, Henrie Cheiraeswike, Eobert Teie, and John 
Goulofer knights, or to seaven or eight of them. These were appointed to heare 
and determine certeine petitions and matters yet depending and not ended; but by 
vertue of this grant, they proceeded to conclude upon other things, which gen erallie 
touched the knowledge of the whole parlement, in derogation of the states therof, 
to the disadvantage of the king, and perillous example in time to come. When 
the king had spent much monie in time of this parlement, he demanded a disme 
and a halfe of the clergie, and a fifteenth of the temporaltie. Finallie, a generall 
pardon was granted for all ofiPenses to all the kings subjects (fiftie onelie excepted) 
whose names he would not by anie meanes expresse, but reserved them to his 
owne knowledge, that when anie of the nobilitie offended him, he might at his 
plesure name him to be one of the number excepted, and so keepe them still 
Avithin his danger. To the end that the ordinances, judgements, and acts made, 
pronounced and established in this parlement, might be and abide in perpetuall 
strength and force, the king purchased the popes buls, in which were conteined 
greevous censures and cursses, pronounced against all such as did by anie means 
go about to breake and violate the statutes in the same parlement ordeined. 
These buls were openlie published and read at Paules crosse in London, and in 
other the most publike places of the realme. — Manie other things were doone in 
this parlement, to the displeasure of no small number of people ; namelie, for that 
diverse rightfull heires were disherited of their lands and livings, by authoritie of 
the same parlement : with which wrongfull dooings the people were much 
offended, so that the king and those that were about him, and cheefe in councell, 
came into great infamie and slander. Indeed, the king, after he had dispatched 
the duke of Glocester, and the otlier noblemen, was not a little glad, for that he 
knew them still readie to disappoint him in all his purposes ; and therefore being 
now as it were carelesse, did not behave liimselfe as some have written, in such 
discreet order, as manie wished : but rather, as in time of prosperitie it often 
happeneth, he forgot himselfe, and began to rule by will more than by reason, 
threatning death to each one that obeied not his inordinate desires. By means 
whereof, the lords of the realme began to feare their owne estates, being in danger 
of his furious outrage, whome they tooke for a man destitute of sobrietie and 
wisedome, and therfore could not like of him, that so abused his authoritie. — 
Hereupon there were sundrie of the nobles, that lamented these mischeefes and 
speciallie shewed their greefes unto such, by whose naughtie counsell they under- 
stood the king to be misled ; and this they did, to the end that they being about 
him, might either turne their copies, and give him better counsell ; or else he 
having knowledge what evill report went of him, might mend his maners misliked 
of liis nobles. But all was in vaine, for so it fell out, that in this parlement 
holden at Shrewsburie, Henrie duke of Hereford accused Thomas Mowbraie duke 
of Norfolke, of certeine words which he should utter in talke had betwixt them, 
as they rode togither latelie before betwixt London and Brainford, sounding 




liighlie to the kings dishonor. And for further proofo thereof, he presented a 
sui)phcation to the king, wherein he appealed the duke of Norfolke in field of 
bat tell, for a traitor, false and disloiall to the king, and eniraie unto the realme. 
This suj)})lication was red before both the dukes, in presence of the king : which 
doone, the duke of Norfolke tooke upon him to answer it, declaring that what- 
soever the Duke of Hereford had said against him other than well, he lied falselie 
like an untrue knight as he was. And when the king asked of the duke of 
Hereford what he said to it : he taking his hood off his head, said ; " My 
sovereigne lord, even as the supplication which I tooke you importeth, right so I 
sale for truth, that Thomas Mowbraie, duke of Norfolke, is a traitour, false and 
disloiall to your roiall majestic, your crowne, and to all the states of your realme. 
Then the duke of Norfolke being asked what he said to tliis, he answered : " Eight 
deere lord, with your favour that I make answer unto your coosine here, I sale 
(your reverence saved) that Henrie of Lancaster, duke of Hereford, like a false 
and disloiall traitor as he is, dootli lie, in that he hath or shall say of me otherwise 
than well." No more, said the king, we have heard inough : and herewith 
commanded the duke of Surrie, for that turne marshall of England, to arrest in his 
name the two dukes : the duke of Lancaster father to the duke of Hereford, the 
duke of Yorke, the duke of Auraarle constable of England ; and the duke of 
Surrie marshall of the realme undertooke as pledges bodie for bodie, for the duke 
of Hereford : but the duke of Northfolke was not suffered to put in pledges, and so 
under arrest was led unto Windsor castell, and there garded with keepers that 
were appointed to see him safelie kept. 

Now after the dissolving of the parlement at Shrewsburle, there was a daie 
appointed about six weeks after, for the king to come unto Windsor, to heare and 
to take some order betwixt the two dukes, which had thus appealed ech other. 
There was a great scaffold erected within the castell of Windsor for the king to sit 
with the lords and prelats of his realme ; and so at the daie appointed, he with the 
said lords and prelats being come thither, and set in their places, the duke of 
Hereford appellant, and the duke of Norfolke defendant, were sent for to come 
and appeare before the king, sitting there in his seat of justice. And then began 
sir John Bushie to speake for the king, declaring to the lords how they should 
understand, that where the duke of Hereford had presented a supplication to the 
king, w^ho was there set to minister justice to all men that would demand the same, 
as apperteined to his roiall majestie, he therefore would now heare what the parties 
could say one against an other, and withall the king commanded the dukes of 
Aumarle and Surrie, the one being constable, and the other marshall, to go unto 
the two dukes, appellant and defendant, requiring them, on his behalfe, to grow to 
some agreement ; and for his part, he would be readie to pardon all that had beene 
said or doone amisse betwixt them, touching anie harme or dishonor to him or his 
realme : but they answered both assuredlie, that it was not possible to have anie 
peace or agreement made betwixt them. When he heard that they had answered, 
he commanded that they should be brought foorthwith before his presence, to 
heare what they would say. Herewith an herald in the kings name with lowd 
voice commanded the dukes to come before the king, either of them to shew his 
reason, or else to make peace togither without more delaie. When they were come 
before the king and lords, the king spake himselfe to them, willing them to agree, 
and make peace togither ; for it is, said he, the best waie ye can take. The duke 
of Norfolke with due reverence hereunto answered, it could not be so brought to 
passe, his honor saved. Then the king asked of the duke of Hereford, what it 
was that he demanded of the duke of Norfolke, and what is the matter that ye can 
not make peace togither, and become friends ? Then stood foorth a knight ; who 
asking and obteining licence to speake for the duke of Hereford, said ; " Eight 




deare and sovereigne lord, here is Henrie of Lancaster duke of Hereford and earle 
of Derbie, who saith, and I for him hkewise say, that Thomas Mowbraie, duke of 
Norfolke, is a false and disloiall traitor to you and your roiall majestie, and to 
your whole realme : and likewise the duke of Hereford saith, and I for him, that 
Thomas Mowbraie, duke of Norfolke, hath received eight thousand nobles to pay 
the souldiers that keepe your towne of Calis, which he hath not doone as he ought ; 
and furthermore the said duke of Norfolke hath beene the occasion of all the 
treason that hath beene contrived in your realme for the space of these eighteene 
yeares, and by his false suggestions and malicious counsell, he hath caused to die 
and to be murdered your right deere uncle, the duke of Glocester, sonne to king 
Edward. Moreover, the duke of Hereford saith, and I for him, that he will prove 
this with his bodie against the bodie of the said duke of Norfolke within lists." 
The king herewith waxed angrie, and asked the duke of Hereford, if these were 
his woords, who answered: "Eight deere lord, they are my woords; and hereof I 
require right, and the battell against him." There was a knight also that asked 
licence to speake for the duke of Norfolke, and obteining it, began to answer thus ; 
" Eight deere sovereigne lord, here is Thomas Mowbraie, duke of Norfolke, who 
answereth and saith, and I for him, that all whicli Henrie of Lancaster hath said 
and declared, saving the reverence due to the king and his councell, is a He ; and 
the said Henrie of Lancaster hath falselie andwickedlie lied as a false and disloiall 
knight, and both hath beene, and is, a traitor against you, your crowne, roiall 
majestie, and realme. This will I prove and defend as becommeth a loiall knight 
to doo with my bodie against his ; right deere lord, I beseech you therefore, and 
your councell, that it male please you, in your roiall discretion, to consider and 
marke, what Henrie of Lancaster, duke of Hereford, such a one as he is, hath 
said." The king then demanded of the duke of Norfolke, if these were his woords, 
and whether he had anie more to saie. The duke of Norfolke then answered for 
himselfe ; " Eight deere sir, true it is, that I have received so much gold to paie 
your people of the towne of Calis ; which I have doone, and I doo avouch that 
your towne of Calis is as well kept at your coramandement as ever it was at anie 
time before, and that there never hath beene by anie of Calis anie complaint made 
unto you of me. Eight deere and my sovereigne lord, for the voiage that I made 
into France, about your marriage, I never received either gold or silver of you, nor 
yet for the voiage that the duke of Aumarle and I made into Almane, where we 
spent great treasure : Marie, true it is, that once I laid an ambush to have slaine 
the duke of Lancaster, that there sitteth : but neverthelesse he hath pardoned me 
thereof, and there was good peace made betwixt us, for the which I yeeld him 
hartie thankes. This is that which I have to answer, and I am readie to defend 
my selfe against mine adversarie ; I beseech you therefore of right, and to have 
the battell against him in upright judgement." After this, when the king had 
communed with his councell a little, lie commanded the two dukes to stand foorth, 
that their answers might be heard. The king then caused them once againe to 
be asked, if they would agree and make peace togither, but they both flatlie 
answered that they would not : and withall the duke of Hereford cast downe his 
gage, and the duke of Norfolke tooke it up. The king perceiving this demeanor 
betwixt them, sware by saint John Baptist, that he would never seeke to make 
peace betwixt them againe. And therfore sir John Bushie in name of the king 
and his councell declared, that the king and his councell had commanded and 
ordeined, that they should have a daie of battell appointed them at Coventrie. 
Here writers disagree about the daie that was appointed : for some saie, it was 
upon a mondaie in August; other upon saint Lamberts daie, being the seventeenth 
of September, other on the eleventh of September ; but true it is, that the king 
assigned them not onlie the daie, but also appointed tliem listes and place for 




tlic combat, and thereupon great ])rcparation was made, as to such a matter 

Anno Reg. 22. — At the time appointed, the king came to Coventric, where 
the two dukes were readie, according to the order prescribed therein, comming 
thitlier in great arraie, accompanied with the lords and gentlemen of their linages. 
The king caused a sumptuous scaffold or theater, and roiall listes there to be 
erected and prepared. The sundaie before they should fight, after dinner the 
duke of Hereford came to the king, being lodged about a quarter of a mile 
without the towne in a tower that belonged to sir William Bagot, to take his leave 
of him. The morow after, being the daie appointed for the combat, about the 
spring of the daie, came the duke of Norfolke to the court to take leave likewise 
of the king. The duke of Hereford armed him in his tent, that was set up neere 
to the lists, and the duke of Norfolke put on his armor betwixt the gate and the 
barrier of the towne, in a beautifull house, having a faire perclois of wood towards 
the gate, that none might see what was doone within the house. The duke of 
Aumarle that daie, being high constable of England, and the duke of Surrie 
marshall, placed themselves betwixt them, well armed and appointed ; and when 
they saw their time, they first entered into the listes with a great companie of men 
apparelled in silke sendall, imbrodered with silver, both richlie and curiouslie, 
everie man having a tipped stafFe to keepe the field in order. About the houre 
of prime came to the barriers of the listes, the duke of Hereford, mounted on a 
white courser, barded with greene and blew velvet imbrodered sumptuouslie with 
swans and antelops of goldsmiths woorke. armed at all points. The constable and 
marshall came to the barriers, demanding of him what he was, he answered ; " I 
am Henrie of Lancaster duke of Hereford, which am come hither to doo mine 
indevor against Thomas Mowbraie duke of Norfolke, as a traitor untrue to God, 
the king, his realme, and me." Then incontinentlie he sware upon the holie 
evangelists, that his quarrell was true and just, and upon that point he required to 
enter the lists. Then he put up his sword, which before he held naked in his 
hand, and putting downe his visor, made a crosse on his horsse, and with speare in 
hand, entered into the lists, and descended from his horsse, and set him downe in 
a chaire of greene velvet, at the one end of the lists, and there reposed himselfe, 
abiding the comming of his adversarie. Soone after him, entred into the field 
with great triumph, king Eichard accompanied with all the peeres of the realme, 
and in his companie was the earle of saint Paule, which was come out of France 
in post to see this challenge performed. The king had there above ten thousand 
men in armour, least some fraie or tumult might rise amongst his nobles, by 
quarelhng or partaking. When the king was set in his seat, which was richlie 
hanged and adorned ; a king at armes made open proclamation, prohibiting all 
men in the name of the king, and of the high constable and marshall, to enterprise 
or attempt to approch or touch any part of the lists upon paiue of death, except 
such as were appointed to order or marshall the field. The proclamation ended, 
an other herald cried; "Behold here Henrie of Lancaster duke of Hereford, 
appellant, which is entred into the lists roiall to doo his devoir against Thomas 
IMowbraie duke of Norfolke, defendant, upon paine to be found false and recreant." 
The duke of Norfolke hovered on horssebacke at the entrie of the lists, his horsse 
being barded with crimosen velvet, imbrodered richlie with lions of silver and 
mulberie trees ; and when he had made his oth before the constable and marshall 
that his quarrell was just and true, he entred the field manfullie, saieng alowd: 
" God aid him that hath the right," and then he departed from his horsse, and 
sate him downe in his chaire which was of crimosen velvet, courtined about with 
white and red damaske. The lord marshall viewed their speares, to see that they 
were of equall length, and delivered the one speare himselfe to the duke of 





Hereford, and sent the other unto the duke of Norfolkc by a knight. Then the 
herald proclamed that the traverses and cliaires of the champions should be 
remooved, commanding them on the kings behalfe to mount on horssebacke, and 
addresse themselves to the battell and combat. The duke of Hereford was 
quicklie horssed, and closed his bavier, and cast his speare into the rest, and when 
the trumpet sounded set forward couragiouslie towards his eniraie six or seven 
pases. The duke of Norfolke was not fullie set forward, when the king cast 
downe his warder, and the heralds cried. Ho, lio. Then tlie king caused their 
speares to be taken from them, and commanded them to repaire againe to their 
chaires, where they remained two long houres, while the king and his councell 
deliberatlie consulted what order was best to be had in so weightie a cause. 
Einallie, after they had devised, and fullie determined what should be doone 
therein, the heralds cried silence ; and sir John Bushie, the kings secretario, read 
the sentence and determination of the king and his councell, in a long roll, the 
effect wherof was, that Henrie duke of Hereford should within fifteene dales 
depart out of the realme, and not to returne before the terme of ten yeares were 
expired, except by the king he should be repealed againe, and this upon paine of 
death; and that Thomas Mowbraie, duke of Norfolke, bicause he had sowen 
sedition in the relme by his words, should likewise avoid the realme, and never to 
returne againe into England, nor approcli the borders or confines thereof upon 
paine of death ; and that the king would stale the profits of his lands, till he had 
levied thereof such summes of monie as the duke had taken up of the kings 
treasuror for the wages of the garrison of Calls, which were still unpaid. When 
these judgements were once read, the king called before him both the parties, and 
made them to sweare that the one should never come in place where the other 
was, willinglie ; nor keepe any companie togither in any forren region ; which oth 
they both received humblie, and so went their waies. The duke of Norfolke 
departed sorowfullie out of the relme into Almanie, and at the last came to Venice, 
where he for thought and melancholic deceassed : for he was in hope, as writers 
record, that he should have beene borne out in the matter by the king, which 
when it fell out otherwise, it grooved him not a little. The duke of Hereford 
tooke his leave of the king at Eltham, who there released foure yeares of his 
banishment; so he tooke his jornie over into Calls, and from thence went into 
Erance, where he remained. A woonder it was to see what number of people ran 
after him in everie towne and street where he came, before he tooke the sea, 
lamenting and bewailing his departure, as who would sale, that, when he departed, 
the onelie shield, defense, and comfort of the commonwealth was vaded and gone. 
At his comming into Erance, king Charles, hearing the cause of his banishment, 
which he esteemed to be verie light, received him gentlie, and him honorablie 
interteined, in so much that he had by favour obteined in mariage the onelie 
daughter of the duke of Berrie, uncle to the Erench king, if king Bichard had not 
beene a let in that matter, who being thereof certified, sent the carle of Salisburie 
with all speed into Erance, both to surmize by untrue suggestion, heinous offenses 
against him, and also to require the Erench king that in no wise he would suffer 
his cousine to be matched in mariage with him that was so manifest an offendor. 
This was a pestilent kind of proceeding against that nobleman then being in a 
forren countrie, having beene so honorablie received as he was at his entrance into 
Erance, and upon view and good liking of his behaviour there, so forward in 
mariage with a ladie of noble linage. So sharpe, so severe, and so heinous an 
accusation, brought to a strange king from a naturall prince, against his subject, 
after punishment inflicted, for he was banished, was inough to have made tlie 
Erench king his fatall fo, and upon suspicion of assaieng the like trecherie against 
him, to have throwne him out of the limits of his land. Ye have heard before, how 




the arclibi^r^hop of Cantiirbiiric Thomas Arundell, was banisht the relmc, and 
Eoger Waldeu was made archbisliop of tliat see, who was a great favourer of the 
citie of London, the which was eftsoones about this season fallen into the kings 
displeasure : but by the diligent labour of this archbishop, and of Robert 
Braibrooke then bishop of London, upon the humble supplication of the citizens, 
the kings wrath was pacified. But yet to content the kings mind, manie blanke 
charters were devised, and brought into the citie, which manie of the substantiall 
and wcalthie citizens were faine to scale, to their great charge, as in the end 
appeared. And the like charters were sent abroad into all shires within the realme, 
whereby great grudge and murmuring arose among the people : for when they 
were so sealed, tlie kings officers wrote in the same what liked them, as well for 
charging tlie parties M'ith paiment of monie, as otherwise. In this meane time, the 
duke of Lancaster departed out of this life at the bishop of Elies place in Holborne, 
and lieth buried in the cathedrall church of saint Paule in London on tlie north- 
side of the high altar, by the ladie Blanch his first wife. The death of this duke 
gave occasion of increasing more hatred in the people of this realme toward the 
king, for he seized into his hands all the goods that belonged to him, and also 
received all the rents and revenues of his lands which ought to have descended 
unto the duke of Hereford by lawfull inheritance, in revoking his letters patents, 
which he had granted to him, before by vertue whereof he might make his 
attorneis generall to sue liverie for him, of any maner of inheritances or possessions 
that might from thencefoorth fall unto him, and that his homage might be re- 
spited, with making reasonable fine : whereby it was evident, that the king meant 
his utter undooing. This hard dealing was much misliked of all the nobilitie, and 
cried out against of the meaner sort : but namelie the duke of Yorke was there- 
with sore mooved, who before this time, had borne things with so patient a mind 
as he could, though the same touched him verie neere, as the death of his brother 
the duke of Glocester, the banishment of his nephue the said duke of Hereford, 
and other mo injuries in great number, which for the slipperie youth of the king, 
he passed over for the time, and did forget aswell as he might. But now per- 
ceiving that neither law, justice, nor equitie could take place, where the kings wil- 
full will was bent upon any wrongfull purpose, he considered that the glorie of the 
publike wealth of his countrie must needs decaie, by reason of the king his lacke 
of wit, and want of such as would (without flatterie) admonish him of his dutie : 
and therefore he thought it the part of a wise man to get him in time to a resting 
place, and to leave the following of such an unadvised capteine as with a leden 
sword would cut his owne throat. Hereupon he, with the duke of Aumarle his 
Sonne, went to his house at Langlie, rejoising that nothing had mishappened in 
the common-wealth through his devise or consent. The common brute ran, that 
the king had set to farme the realme of England, unto sir William Scroope earle 
of Wiltshire, and then treasuror of England, to sir John Bushie, sir John Bagot, 
and sir Henrie Greene knights. About the same time, the earle of Arundels 
Sonne, named Thomas, which was kept in the duke of Exeters house, escaped out 
of the realme, by meanes of one AVilliam Scot mercer, and went to his uncle 
Thomas Arundell late Archbishop of Canturburie, as then sojourning at Cullen. 
King Bichard, being destitute of treasure to furnish such a princelie port as he 
maintained, borrowed great summes of monie of manie of the great lords and peeres 
of his realme, both spirituall and temporall, and likewise of other meane persons, 
promising them in good earnest, by delivering to them his letters patents for assu- 
rance, that he would repaie the monie so borrowed at a dale appointed : which 
notwithstanding he never paid. Moreover, this yeare he caused seventeene shires 
of the realme by waie of putting them to their fines to paie no small summes of 
monie, fur redeeming their offenses, that they had aided the duke of Glocester, 





the earles of Arundell, and Warwike, when they rose in armor against him. The 
nobles, gentlemen, and commons of those shires were inforced also to receive a 
new oth to assure the king of their fidelitie in time to come ; and withall certeine 
prelats and other honorable personages, were sent into the same shires to persuade 
men to this paiment, and to see things ordered at the pleasure of the prince : and 
suerlie the fines which the nobles, and other the meaner estates of those shires were 
constreined to paie, were not small, but exceeding great, to the offense of manic. 
Moreover, the kings letters patents were sent into everie shire within this land, by 
vertue whereof, an oth was demanded of all the kings liege people for a further 
assurance of their due obedience, and they were constreined to ratihe the same in 
writing under their hands and scales. Moreover they were compelled to put their 
hands and scales to certeine blankes, wherof ye have heard before, in the vvliich, 
when it pleased him he might write what he thought good. There was also a new 
oth devised for the shiriflFes of everie countie through the realme to receive : finallie, 
manie of the kings liege people were through spite, envie, and malice, accused, appre- 
hended, and put in prison, and after brought before the constable and marshall of 
England, in the court of chivalrie, and might not otherwise be delivered, except 
they could justifie themselves by combat and fighting in lists against their accusers 
hand to hand, although the accusers for the most part were lustie, yoong and 
valiant, where the parties accused were perchance old, impotent, maimed and 
sicklie. Whereupon not onelie the' great destruction of the realme in general!, 
but also of everie singular person in particular, was to be feared and looked for. 

In this yeare in a manner throughout all the realme of England, old baie trees 
withered, and afterwards, contrarie to all mens thinking, grew greene againe, a 
strange sight, and supposed to import some unknowne event. In this meane time, 
the king, being advertised that the wild Irish dailie wasted and destroied the 
townes and villages within the English pale, and had slaine manie of the souldiers 
which laie there in garison for defense of that countrie, determined to make 
eftsoones a voiage thither, and prepared all things necessarie for his passage now 
against the spring. A little before his setting foorth, he caused a justs to be 
holden at Windesor of fourtie knights and fourtie esquiers, against all commers, 
and they to be apparelled in greene, with a white falcon, and the queene to be 
there well accompanied with ladies and damsels. When these justs were finished, 
the king departed toward Eristow, from thence to passe into Ireland, leaving the 
queene with hir traine still at Windesor : he appointed for his lieutenant-generall 
in his absence, his uncle the duke of Yorke : and so in the moneth of Aprill, as 
diverse authors write, he set forward from Windesor, and finallie tooke shipping at 
Milford, and from thence, with two hundred ships, and a puissant power of men 
of amies and archers he sailed into Ireland. The fridaie next after his arrivall, 
there were slaine two hundred Irishmen at Eourd in Kenlis within the countie of 
Kildare, by tliat valiant gentleman Jenico Dartois, and such Englishmen as 
he had there with him ; and on the morrow next insuing the citizens of Dublin 
invaded the countrie of Obrin, and slue thirtie and three Irishmen. Now whilest 
he was thus occupied in devising how to reduce them into subjection, and taking 
orders for the good staie and quiet government of the countrie, diverse of the 
nobilitie, as well prelats as other, and likewise manie of the magistrats and rulers of 
the cities, townes, and communaltie, here in England, perceiving dailie how the 
realme drew to utter mine, not like to be recovered to the former state of wealth, 
whilest king Eichard lived and reigned, as they tooke it, devised with great deli- 
beration, and considerate advise, to send and signifie by letters unto duke Henrie, 
whome they now called, as he was in deed, duke of Lancaster and Hereford, re- 
quiring him with all convenient speed to conveie himselfe into England, promising 
him all their aid, power and assistance, if he expelling K. Eichard, as a man not 
IX. 3 




moot for the oiricc lie bare, would lake upon him the scepter, rule, and diademe 
of his luitivc hind and region, lie therefore being thus called upon by messen- 
gers and letters from his freends, and cheeflic through the earnest persuasion of 
Thomas Aruudell, late archbishop of Canturburie, who, as before yee have heard, 
had beeue remooved from his see, and banished the realme by king Kichards 
means, got him downe to liritaine, togither with the said archbishop, where he 
was joifullie received of the duke and duchesse, and found such freendship at the 
dukes hands, that there were certcine sliips rigged, and made readie for him, at a 
place in base Britaine, called Le-port-blauc, as we find in the clu'onicles of 
% Britaine ; and wdien all his provision was made readie, he tooke the sea, togither 

with the said archbishop of Canturburie, and his nephue Thomas Arundell, sonne 
and heirc to the late earle of Arundell, beheaded at the Tower hill, as you have 
heard. There were also with him, Eeginald lord Cobham, sir Thomas Erpingham, 
and sir Tiiomas Eamston knights, John Norburie, Eobert "Waterton, and Erancis 
Coint esquires ; few else were there, for, as some write, he had not past fifteene 
lances, as they tearmed them in those dales, that is to sale, men of armes, fur- 
nished and appointed as the use then was. Yet other write that the duke of 
Britaine delivered unto him three thousand men of warre, to attend him, and that 
he had eight ships well furnished for the warre, where Eroissard yet speaketh but of 
three. Moreover, where Eroissard and also the chronicles of Britaine avouch, that 
he should land at Plimmouth, by our English writers it seemeth otherwise ; for it 
appeareth by their assured report, that he approching to the shore, did not streight 
take land, but lay hovering aloofe, and shewed himselfe now in this place, and now 
in that, to see what countenance was made by the people, whether they meant 
enviouslie to resist him, or freendlie to receive him. When the lord governor 
Edmund duke of Yorke was advertised, that the duke of Lancaster kept still the 
sea, and was readie to arrive, but where he ment first to set foot on land, there 
was not any that understood the certeintie, he sent for the lord chancellor Edmund 
Stafford bishop of Excester, and for the lord treasuror William Scroope earle of 
"Wiltshire, and other of the kings privie councell, as John Bushie, William Bagot, 
Henrie Greene, and John Russell, knights ; of these he required to know what 
they thought good to be doone in this matter, concerning the duke of Lancaster, 
being on the seas. Their advise was, to depart from London unto S. Albons, 
and there to gather an armie to resist the duke in his landing, but to how small 
purpose their counsell served, the conclusion thereof plainlie declared, for the most 
part that were called, when they came thither, boldlie protested, that they would not 
fight against the duke of Lancaster, whome they knew to be evill dealt withall. 
The lord treasuror, Bushie, Bagot, and Greene, perceiving that the commons 
would cleave unto, and take part w4th the duke, slipped awaie, leaving the lord 
governour of the realme, and the lord chancellor to make what shift they could for 
themselves; Bagot got him to Chester, and so escaped into Ireland; the other 
fled to the castell of Bristow, in hope there to be in safetie. The duke of 
Lancaster, after that he had coasted alongst the shore a certeine time, and had got 
some intelligence how the peoples minds were affected towards him, landed about 
the beginning of Julie in Yorkshire, at a place sometime called Eavenspur, betwixt 
Hull and Bridlington, and with him not past threescore persons, as some write: 
but he w^as so jnifullie received of the lords, knights, and gentlemen of those parts, 
that he found means, by their helpe, forthwith to assemble a great number of 
people, that were willing to take his part. The first that came to him, were the 
lords of Lincolneshire, and other countries adjoining, as the lords Willoughbie, 
Eos, Darcie, and Beaumont. At his comming unto Doncaster, the earle of 
Northumberland, and his sonne sir Henrie Persie, wardens of the marches against 
Scotland, with the earle of Westmerland, came unto him, where he sware unto 




those lords, that he would demand no more, but the lands that were to him de- 
scended by inheritence from his father, and in right of his wife. Moreover, he ♦ 
undertooke to cause the paiment of taxes and tallages to be laid downe, and to bring 
the king to good government, and to remoove from him the Cheshire men, whicii 
were envied of manie ; for that the king esteemed of them more than of anie otlier ; 
happilie, bicause they were more faithfuU to him than other, readie in all respects 
to obeie his commandements and pleasure. From Doncaster having now got a 
mightie armie about him, he marched foorth with all speed througli the countries, 
comming by Evesham unto Berkelie ; within the space of three daies, all the kings 
castels in those parts were surrendred unto him. The duke of Yorke, whome king 
Eicliard had left as governour of the realme in his absence, liearing that his 
nephue the duke of Lancaster was thus arrived, and had gathered an armie, he also 
assembled a puissant power of men of amies and archers, as before yeehave heard, 
but all was in vaine, for there was not a man that willinglie wmld thrust out one 
arrow against the duke of Lancaster, or his partakers, or in anie wise oflPend him 
or his freends. The duke of Yorke, therefore, passing foorth towards Wales to 
meet the king, at his comming foorth of Ireland, was received into the castell of 
Berkelie, and there remained, till the comming thither of the duke of Lancaster, 
■whom when he perceived that he was not able to resist, on the sundaie, after the 
feast of saint James, which as that yeare came about, fell upon the fridaie, he came 
foorth into the church that stood without the castell, and there communed with the 
duke of Lancaster. With the duke of Yorke were the bishops of Norwich, the 
lord Berkelie, the lord Seimour, and other ; with the duke of Lancaster were these, 
Thomas Arundell archbishop of Canturburie that had beene banished, the abbat 
of Leicester, the earles of Northumberland and Westmerland, Thomas Arundell 
Sonne to Bicliard late earle of Arundell, the baron of Greistoke, tlie lords 
Willoughbie and Ros, with diverse other lords, knights, and other people, which 
dailie came to him from everie part of the realme : those that came not, were spoiled 
of all they had, so as they were never able to recover themselves againe, for their 
goods being then taken awaie, were never restored. And thus what for love, and 
what for feare of losse, they came flocking unto him from everie part. At the 
same present there M^as arrested, and committed to safe custodie, the bishop of 
Norwich, sir William Elmam, and sir Walter Burlie, knights, Laurence Drew, and 
John Golofer, esquiers. On the morow after, the forsaid dukes with their power, 
went towards Bristow, where, at their comming, they shewed themselves before the 
towne and castell, being an huge multitude of people. There were inclosed within 
the castell, the lord William Scroope earle of Wiltshire and treasuror of England, 
sir Henrie Greene, and sir John Bushie knights, who prepared to make resistance : 
but when it would not prevaile, they were taken and brought foorth bound as pri- 
soners into the campe, before the duke of Lancaster. On the morow, next insuing 
they were arraigned before the constable and marshall, and found giltie of treason, 
for misgoverning the king and realme, and foorthwith had their heads smit off. Sir 
John Bussell was also taken there, who feining himselfe to be out of his wits, escaped 
their hands for a time. 

In this meane time, king Bichard advertised how the duke of Lancaster 
was landed in England, and tliat the lords, gentlemen, and commons ass.embled 
themselves to take his part, forthwith caused the lord Henrie, sonne to the said 
duke of Lancaster, and the lord Humfrie, sonne to the duke of Glocester, to be 
shut up fast in the castell of Trimme, and with all speed made hast to returne 
into England, in hope with an armie to incounter the duke, before he sliould have 
time to assemble his freends togither. But here you shall note, that it fortuned 
at the same time, in which the duke of Hereford or Lancaster, whether ye list to 
call him, arrived thus in England, the seas were so troubled by tempests, and the 




wind? blew contrarie for anie ])assage, to come over foortli of England to the 
king-, reinainhig still in Ireland, that for the space of six weeks, he received no 
advertisements from thence ; yet at length, when the seas became calme, and the 
wind once turned auie thing lavourable, there came over a ship, whereby the king 
understood the manner of the dukes arrivall, and all his proceedings till that 
dale, in which the ship departed from the coast of England, whereupon he meant 
foorthwith to have returned over into England, to make resistance against the 
duke : but through persuasion of the duke of Aumarle (as was thought) he staied, 
till he might have all his ships, and other provision, fullie readie for his passage. 
In the meane time, he sent the earle of Salisburie over into England, to gather a 
power togithcr, by hclpe of the kings freends in Wales, and Cheshire, with all 
speed possible, that they might be readie to assist him against the duke, upon his 
arrivall, for he meant himselfe to follow the earle, within six daies after. The 
earle passing over into AVales, landed at Conwaie, and sent foorth letters to the 
kings freends, both in Wales and Cheshire, to leavie their people, and to come 
with all speed to assist the king, whose request, with great desire, and very 
willing minds they fulfilled, hoping to have found the king himselfe at Conwaie ; 
insomuch that within foure daies space, there were to the number of fortie 
thousand men assembled, readie to march with the king against his enimies, if he 
had beene there himselfe in person. But when they missed the king, there was a 
brute spred amongst them, that the king was suerlie dead, which wrought such an 
impression, and evill disposition, in the minds of the Welshmen and others, that 
for anie persuasion which the earle of Salisburie might use, they would not go 
foorth with him, till they saw the king; onelie they were contented to stale 
foureteene daies to see if he should come or not ; but when he came not within 
that tearme, they would no longer abide, but scaled and departed awaie ; wheras if 
the king had come before their breaking up, no doubt, but they would have put 
the duke of Hereford in adventure of a field : so that the kings lingering of time 
before his comming over, gave opportunitie to the duke to bring things to passe 
as he could have wished, and tooke from the king all occasion to recover after- 
wards anie forces sufficient to resist him. At length, about eighteene daies after 
that the king had sent from him the earle of Salisburie, he tooke the sea, togither 
with the dukes of Aumarle, Excester, Surrie, and diverse others of the nobilitie, 
with the bishops of London, Lincolne, and Carleill. They landed neere the castell 
of Barclowlie in Wales, about the feast of saint James the apostle, and staied a 
while in the same castell, being advertised of the great forces which the duke of 
Lancaster had got togither against him, wherewith he was marvellouslie amazed, 
knowing certeinelie that those whicli were thus in armes with the duke of 
Lancaster against him, would rather die than give place, as well for the hatred as 
feare which they had conceived at him. Neverthelesse he departing from 
Barclowlie, hasted with all speed towards Conwaie, where he understood the earle 
of Salisburie to be still remaining. He therefore taking with him such Cheshire 
men as he had with him at that present, in whom all his trust was reposed, he 
doubted not to revenge himselfe of his adversaries, and so at the first he passed 
with a good courage : but when he understood as he went thus forward, that all 
the castels, even from the borders of Scotland unto Bristow were delivered unto 
the duke of Lancaster, and that likewise the nobles and commons, as well of the 
south parts, as the north, were fullie bent to take part with the same duke against 
him ; and further, hearing how his trustie councellors had lost their heads at 
Bristow, he became so greatlie discomforted, that sorowfullie lamenting his 
miserable state, he utterlie despaired of his owne safetie, and calling his armie 
togither, which was not small, licenced everie man to depart to his home. The 
souldiers being well bent to fight in his defense, besought him to be of good 




cheere, promising- with an oth to stand with him against the duke, and all his 
partakers unto death ; but this couki not incourage him at all, so that in tlie night 
next insuing, he stole from his armie, and with the dukes of Exce^ter and Surrie, 
the bishop of Carleill, and sir Stephan Scroope, and about halfe a score others, he 
got him to the castell of Conwaie, where he found the earle of Salisburie, 
determining there to hold himselfe, till he might see the world at some better 
staie ; for what counsell to take to remedie the mischeefe thus pressing upon him 
he wist not. On the one part he knew his title just, true, and infallible ; and his 
conscience cleane, pure, and without spot of envie or malice : he had also no small 
affiance in the Welshmen, and Cheshire men. On the other side, he saw the 
puissance of his adversaries, the sudden departing of them whom he most trusted, 
and all things turned upside downe : he evidentlie saw, and manifestlie perceived, 
that he was forsaken of them, by whom in time he might have beene aided and 
relieved, where now it was too late, and too farre overpassed. 

Sir Thomas Persie, earle of Worcester, lord steward of the kings house, either 
being so commanded by the king, or else upon displeasure, as some write, for that 
the king had proclaimed his brother the earle of Northumberland traitor, brake 
his white staffe, which is the representing signe and token of his office, and 
without delaie went to duke Henrie. When the kings servants of houshold saw 
this, for it was doone before them all, they dispersed themselves, some into one 
countrie, and some into an other. AVhen the duke of Lancaster understood that 
king Bichard was returned foorth of Ireland, he left the duke of Yorke still at 
Bristow, and came backe with his power unto Berkleie ; the second dale he came 
to Glocester, and so to Boos, after to Hereford, where came to him the bishop of 
Hereford, and sir Edmund Mortimer knight. On the sun dale following, he went 
to Limster, and there the lord Charleton came to him. From thence he went to 
Ludlow, and the next dale to Shrewsburie, where he rested one daie, and thither 
came to him sir Bobert Leigh, and sir John Leigh, and manie other being sent 
from Chester, to treat with the duke of Lancaster, for the citie and countie of 
Chester, that were now readie to submit themselves unto him in all things. There 
came hither unto him the lord Scales, and the lord Berdolfe, foorth of Ireland, 
having beene spoiled of all they had about them in AVales, as they came through 
the countrie. Erom Shrewsburie, he kept on his journie towards Chester, and 
lodging one night by the waie, in a towne there in the borders of Wales, he came 
the second night to Chester, and staled there certeine dales togither, making a 
jollie muster of his armie there in sight of the citie. The clergie met, and 
received him with procession ; he sent foorthwith for his sonne and heire, and 
likewise for the duke of Glocesters sonne and heire, that were as yet remaining in 
Ireland, commanding them with all speed to returne home into England. But 
the duke of Glocesters sonne, through mischance perished, as he was on the seas 
to come over, for whose losse his mother tooke such greefe, that shortlie after 
through immoderate sorow she likewise passed out of this transitorie life. 

In this meane time, king Bichard being in the castell of Conwaie sore dis- 
comfited, and fearing lest he could not remaine there long in safetie, upon 
knowledge had by his trustie freends John Paulet, and Bichard Seimour, of the 
dealings and approch of his adversaries, sent the duke of Excester to talke with 
the duke of Lancaster, who in this meane while had caused one of king Jlicliards 
faithfuU and trustie freends, sir Piers a Leigh, comraonlie called Pcrkin a Lee, to 
lose his head, and commanded the same to be set up, upon one of the highest 
turrets about all the citie ; and so that true and faithfull gentleman, for his 
stedfast faith, and assured loialtie to his loving sovereigne, thus lost his life. 
There came to him about the same time, or somewhat before, the dukes of 
Aumarle and Surrie, the lord Lovell, and sir John Stanleie, beseeching him to 



receive him into hi;* favour. By some \vritcrs it should secmc, not onelic the 
duke of Excester, but also the duke of Surrie were sent unto duke Henrie from 
king llichard, and that duke Ilcnrie staied them both, and would not sufPer them 
to returne to the king- againe, keeping the duke of Excester still about him, and 
committing the duke of Surrie to prison, within the castcll of Chester. The king 
herewith went to Eeaumaris, and after to Carnarvan : but finding no provision 
cither of vittels or other things in those castels, no not so much as a bed to lie in, 
he came backc againe to Conwaie, and in the meane time was the castell of Holt 
delivered to the duke of Elcreford, by those that had it in keeping, wherein was 
great store of jewels, to the value of two hundred thousand marks ; besides an 
hundred thousand marks in readie coine. After this, the duke, with advise of his 
councell, sent the earle of Northumberland unto the king, accompanied with foure 
hundred lances, and a thousand archers, who comming to the castell of Elint, had 
it delivered unto him ; and from thence he hasted foorth towards Conwaie. But 
before he approched neere the place, he left his power behind him, hid closelie 
in two ambushes, behind a craggie mounteine, beside the high waie that leadetli 
from Elint to Conwaie. This doone, taking not past foure or five with him, he 
passed foorth, till he came before the towue, and then sending an herald to the 
king, requested a safe conduct from the king, that he might come and talke with 
him, which the king granted, and so the earle of Northumberland passing the 
water, entred the castell, and comming to the king, declared to him, that if it 
might please his grace to undertake that there should be a pavlement assembled, 
in the which justice might be had, against such as were enimies to the common- 
wealth, and had procured the destruction of the duke of Glocester, and other 
noblemen, and herewith pardon the duke of Hereford of all things wherin he had 
ofi^'ended him, the duke would be readie to come to him on his knees, to crave of 
him forgivenesse, and as an humble subject, to obeie him in all dutifull services. 
The king taking advise upon these ofi'ers, and other made by the earle of 
Northumberland on the behalfe of the duke of Hereford ; upon the carles oth, for 
assurance that the same should be performed in ech condition, agreed to go with 
the earle to meete the duke, and here upon taking their horsses, they rode foorth, 
but the earle rode before, as it were, to prepare dinner for the king at Rutland, 
but comming to the place where he had left his people, he staied there with them. 
The king keeping on his waie, had not ridden past foure miles, when he came to 
the place where the ambuslies were lodged, and being entred within danger of them, 
before he was aware, shewed himselfe to be sore abashed. But now there was no 
remedie ; for the earle being there with his men, would not suffer him to returne, 
as he gladlie would have doone if he might; but being inclosed with the sea on the 
one side, and the rocks on the other, having his adversaries so neere at hand 
before him, he could not shift awaie by any meanes, for if he should have fled 
backe, they might easilie have overtaken him, yer he could have got out of 
their danger. And thus of force he was then constrained to go with the earle. 
Mho brought him to Eutland, where they dined, and from thence they rode unto 
Elint to bed. The king had verie few about him of his freends, except onelie the 
earle of Salisburie, the laishop of Carleill, the lord Stephan Scroope, sir Nicholas 
Eerebie, a sonne also of the countesse of Salisburie, and Jenico Dartois, a 
Gascoigne, that still wwe the cognisance or devise of his maister king Eichard, 
that is to sale, a wliite hart, and would not put it from him, neither for 
persuasions nor threats; by reason whereof, when the duke of Hereford understood 
it, he caused him to be committed to prison within the castell of Chester. This 
man was the last (as saieth mine author) which ware that devise, and shewed 
well tliereby his constant hart toward his maister, for tlic which it was thought 
he should have lost his life, but yet he was pardoned, and at length reconciled to 




the dukes favour, after he was king. — But now to our j)urpose. King llichard 
being- thus come unto tiie castell of Mint, on the mondaie, the eighteenth of August, 
and the duke of Hereford being still advertised from houre to houre by posts 
how the earle of Northumberland sped, the morow following being tuesdaie, and the 
nineteenth of August, he came thither, and mustered his armie before the kings 
presence, which undoubtedlie made a passing faire shew, being verie well ordered 
by the lord Henrie Persie, that was appointed generall, or rather, as we maie call 
him, master of the campe, under the duke, of the whole armie. There were come 
alreadie to the castell, before the approching of the maine armie, the archbishop of 
Canturburie, the duke of Aumarle, the earle of Worcester, and diverse other. 
The archbishop entred first, and then followed the other, comming into the first 
ward. The king that was walking aloft on the braies of the wals, to behold the 
comming of the duke a farre off, might see that the archbishop and the other were 
come, and, as he tooke it, to talke with him ; whereupon he foorthwith came downe 
unto them, and beholding that they did their due reverence to him on their knees, 
he tooke them up, and drawing the archbishop aside from the residue, talked with 
him a good while, and as it was reported, the archbishop willed him to be of good 
comfort, for he should be assured, not to have anie hurt, as touching his person ; 
but he prophesied not as a prelat, but as a Pilat. Por, was it no hurt, tliinke you, 
to his person, to be spoiled of his roialtie, to be deposed from his crowne, to be trans- 
lated from principalitie to prison, and to fall from honor into horror. All which 
befell him to his extreame hart greefe, no doubt : which to increase, meanes, alas ! 
there were manie ; but to diminish, helps, God wot, but a few. Some write that 
the archbishop of Canturburie went with the earle of Northumberland unto 
Conwaie, and there talked with him ; and further, that even then the king offered, 
in consideration of his insufficiencie to govern e, freelie to resigne the crowne, and 
his kinglie title to the same, unto the duke of Hereford. But forsomuch as those 
that were continuallie attendant about the king, during the whole time of his abode 
at Conwaie, and till his comming to Plint, doo plainelie afhrme, that the arch- 
bishop came not to him, till this tuesdaie before his remooving from Plint unto 
Chester, it maie be thought, the circumstances well considered, that he rather made 
that promise here at Plint, than at Conwaie, although by the tenour of an 
instrument, conteining the declaration of the archbishop of Yorke, and other com- 
missioners sent from the estates assembled in the next parlement, unto the said 
king, it is recorded to be at Conwaie, as after ye maie read. But there maie be some 
default in the copie, as taking the one place for the other. But wheresoever this 
offer was made, after that the archbishop had now here at Plint communed with 
the king, he departed, and taking his liorsse againe, rode backe to meet the duke, 
who began at that present to approch the castell, and compassed it round about, 
even downe to the sea, with his people ranged in good and seemelie order, at the 
foot of the mounteins ; and then the earle of Northumberland passing foorth of 
the castell to the duke, talked with him a while in sight of the king, being againe 
got up to the walles, to take better view of the armie, being now advanced within 
two bowe shootes of the castell, to the small rejoising, ye may be sure, of the 
sorowfull king. The earle of Northumberland returning to the castell, appointed 
the king to be set to dinner, for he w^as fasting till then, and after he had .dined, 
the duke came downe to the castell himselfe, and entred the same all armed, his 
bassenet onelie excepted, and being within the first gate, he staled there till the 
king came foorth of the inner part of the castell unto him. The king, accompanied 
with the bishop of Carleill, the earle of Salisburie, and sir Stephan Scroope knight, 
who bare the sword before him, and a few other, came foorth into the utter ward, 
and sate downe in a place prepared for him. Poorthwith as the duke got sight of 
the king, he shewed a reverend dutie as became him, in bowing his knee, and 




comming fonvard, did so likewise the second and third time, till the king tooke 
him l)v the hand, and lift him up, saieng ; " Deere cousine, ye are welcome." 
The duke humblie thanking him, said ; " My sovereigne lord and king, the cause 
of my comming at this present, is (your honor saved) to have againe restitution 
of my person, my lands and heritage, through your favourable licence." The king 
lierunto answered ; " Deere cousine, I am readie to accomplish your will, so that 
ye may injoy all that is yours, without exception." Meeting thus togither, they 
came foorth of the castell, and the king there called for wine, and after they had 
dronke, they mounted on horssebacke, and rode that night to Flint, and the next 
daie unto Chester, the third unto Nantwich, the fourth to Newcastell. Here, 
with glad countenance, the lord Thomas Beauchampe, earle of Warvvike, met them, 
that had beene confined into the He of Man; but now was revoked home by the 
duke of Lancaster. Erom Newcastell they rode to Stafford, and the sixt daie unto 
Lichfield, and there rested sundaie all daie. After this, they rode foorth, and 
lodged at these places insuing, Coventrie, Dantree, Northampton, Dunstable, S. 
Albons, and so came to London ; neither was the king permitted all this while to 
change his apparell, but rode still through all these townes simplie clothed in one 
sute of raiment, and yet he was in his time exceeding sumptuous in apparell, 
in so much as he had one cote, which he caused to be made for him of gold and 
stone, valued at 30,000 marks : and so he was brought the next waie to 
AVestminster. As for the duke, he was received with all the joy and pompe that 
might be of the Londoners, and was lodged in tlie bishops palace, by Paules church. 
It was a woonder to see what great concursse of people, and what number of 
horsses came to him on the waie as he thus passed the countries, till his comming 
to London, wdiere (upon his approch to the citie) the maior rode foorth to receive 
him, and a great number of other citizens. Also the cleargie met him with pro- 
cession, and such joy appeared in the countenances of the people, uttering the 
same also with words, as the like not lightlie beene scene. Eor in everie towne and 
village where he passed, children rejoised, women clapped their hands, and men 
cried out for joy. But to speake of the great numbers of people that flocked 
togither in the fields and streets of London at his comming, I here omit ; neither 
will I speake of the presents, welcommings, lauds, and gratifications made to him 
by the citizens and communaltie. — But now to the purpose. The next day after 
his comming to London, the king from Westminster was had to the Tower, and 
there committed to safe custodie. Manie evill disposed persons, assembling them- 
selves togither in great numbers, intended to have met with him, and to have 
taken him from such as had the conveieng of him, that they might have 
slaine him. But the maior and aldermen gathered to them the worshipfuU 
commoners and grave citizens, by whose policie, and not without much adoo, the 
other were revoked from their evill purpose : albeit, before they might be pacified, 
they comming to Westminster, tooke maister John Sclake deane of the kings 
chappell, and from thence brought him to Newgate, and there laid him fast in 
irons. After this was a parlement called by the duke of Lancaster, using the name 
of king Eichard in the WTits directed foorth to the lords, and other states for their 
summons. This parlement began the thirteenth daie of September, in the which 
manie heinous points of misgovernance and injurious dealings in the administra- 
tion of his kinglie office, were laid to the charge of this noble prince king 
Tlichard, the which, to the end the commons might be persuaded, that he was an 
unprofitable prince to the common-wealth, and worthie to be deposed, were in- 
grossed up in 33 solemne articles, heinous to the eares of all men, and to some 
almost incredible. Then for so much as these articles, and other heinous and 
detestable accusations were laid against him in open parlement, it was tliought by 
the most part, that he was worthie to be deposed from all kinglie honor, and 




princelie governement : and to bring the matter without slander the better to passe, 
diverse of the kings servants, which by licence had accesse to his person, com- 
forted him, being with sorrow almost consumed, and in manner halfe dead, in the 
best wise they could, exhorting him to regard his health, and save his life. And 
first, they advised him willinglie to suffer himselfe to be deposed, and to resigne 
his right of his owne accord, so that the duke of Lancaster might without murther 
or battell obteine the scepter and diademe, after which, they well perceived, he 
gaped ; by meane whereof they thought he might be in perfect assurance of his 
life long to continue. Whether this their persuasion proceeded by the suborning 
of the duke of Lancaster and his favourers, or of a sincere affection which they 
bare to the king, as supposing it most sure in such an extremitie, it is uncerteine ; 
but yet the effect followed not, howsoever their meaning was ; notwithstanding, 
the king being now in the hands of his enimies, and utterlie despairing of all 
comfort, was easilie persuaded to renounce his crown e and princelie preheminence, 
so that in hope of life onelie, he agreed to all things that were of him demanded. 
And so, as it should seeme by the copie of an instrument hereafter following, he 
renounced andvoluntarilie was deposed from his roiall crowne and kinglie dignitie, 
the mondaie being the nine and twentith dale of September, and feast of S. 
Michaell the archangell, in the yeare of our Lord 1399, and in the three and 
twentith yeare of his reigne. 

Upon the morrow after being Tuesdaie, and the last dale of September, all the 
lords spirituall and temporall, with the commons of the said parlement, assembled 
at Westminster, where, in the presence of them, the archbishop of Yorke, and the 
bishop of Hereford, according to the kings request, shewed unto them the volun- 
tarie renouncing of the king, with the favour also which he bare to his cousine of 
Lancaster to have him his successour. And moreover shewed them the schedule 
or bill of renouncement, signed with king Bichards owne hand, which they caused 
to be read first in Latine, as it was written, and after in English. This doone, the 
question was first asked of the lords, if they would admit and allow that 
renouncement; the which when it was of them granted and confirmed, the like 
question was asked of the commons, and of them in like manner confirmed. After 
this, it was then declared, that notwithstanding the foresaid renouncing, so by the 
lords and commons admitted and confirmed, it were necessarie, in avoiding of all 
suspicions and surmises, of evill disposed persons, to have in writing and registred 
the manifold crimes and defaults before doone by king Richard, to the end that 
they might first be openlie declared to the people, and after to remaine of record 
amongst other of the kings records for ever. All this was doone accordinglie, for 
the articles were drawne and ingrossed up, and there shewed readie to be read ; 
but for other causes more needfuU as then to be preferred, the reading of those 
articles at that season was deferred. Then for so much as the lords of the parle- 
ment had well considered the voluntarie resignation of king Richard, and that it 
was behoovefull and as they thought necessarie for the weale of the realme, to 
proceed unto the sentence of his deposing, there were appointed by the authoritie 
of all the estates there in parlement assembled, the bishop of saint Asaph, the abbat 
of Glastenburie, the earle of Glocester, the lord Berkleie, William Thirning 
justice, and Thomas Erpingham, with Thomas Graie, knights, that they should give 
and pronounce the open sentence of the deposing of king Richard. Wherupon 
the said commissioners taking counsell togither, by good and deliberate advise 
therein had, with one assent agreed, that the bishop of S. Asaph should publish 
the sentence for them and in their names. After which sentence thus openlie 
declared, the said estates admitted foorthwith the forenamed commissioners for 
their procurators, to resigne and yeeld up unto king Richard, all their homage and 
fealtie which in times past they had made and owght unto him, and also for to declare 
IX. 4 




unto him (if need were) all things before doone that concerned the purpose and 
cause of his deposing; the which resignation was respited till the morow 
following. Immediatlie as the sentence was in this wise passed, and that by 
reason thereof the realme stood void without head or governour for the time, the 
duke of Lancaster rising from the place where before he sate, and standing where 
all those in the house might behold him, in reverend manner made a signe of the 
crosse on his forhead, and likewise on his brest, and after silence by an officer 
commanded, said unto the people there being present these words following. — 
" In the name of the Father, and of the Sonne, and of the Holie-ghost. I Henrie 
of Lancaster claime the realme of England and the crowne, with all the appurte- 
nances, as I that am descended by right line of the blood comming from that good 
lord king Henrie the third, and through the right that God of his grace hath sent 
me, with the helpe of my kin, and of my freends, to recover the same, which was in 
point to be undoone for default of good governance and due justice." After these 
words thus by him uttered, he retm'ued and sate him downe in the place where 
before he had sitten. Then the lords having heard and well perceived this claime 
thus made by this noble man, ech of them asked of other what they thought 
therein. At length, after a little pausing or stale made, the archbishop of 
Canturburie having notice of the minds of the lords, stood up and asked the 
commons if they would assent to the lords, which in their minds thought the claime 
of the duke made, to be rightfull and necessarie for the wealth of the realme and 
them all ; whereto the commons with one voice cried. Yea, yea, yea. After which 
answer, the said archbishop going to the duke, and kneeling downe before him on 
his knee, addressed to him all his purpose in few words. The which when he had 
ended, he rose, and taking the duke by the right hand, led him unto the kings 
seate, the archbishop of Yorke assisting him, and with great reverence set him 
therein, after that the duke had first upon his knees made his praier in devout 
manner unto almightie God. When he was thus placed in his throne to the'great 
rejoising of the people, the archbishop of Canturburie began a breefe collation, 
taking for his theme these words, written in the first booke of kings the ninth 
chapter, — Vir dominahiiur in populo, Sfc.j handling the same, and the whole 
tenour of his tale to the praise of the king, whose setled judgement, grounded 
wisedome, perfect reason, and ripe discretion was such, said he, as declared him to 
be no child, neither in yeares, nor in light conditions, but a man able and meete 
for the governement of a realme : so that there was no small cause of comfort 
ministred to them through the favourable goodnesse of almightie God, which had 
provided them of such a governor, as like a discreet judge shall deeme in causes 
by skilfull doomes, and rule his subjects in upright equitie, setting apart all wil- 
full pleasures, and childish inconstancie. After the archbishop had ended, wishing 
that it might so come to passe, and the people answered, Amen; the king 
standing on his feet, said unto the lords and commons there present : " I thanke 
you, my lords both spirituall and temporall, and all the states of this land, and doo 
you to wit, that it is not my will that any man thinke, that I by the waie of 
conquest would disherit any man of his heritage, franches, or other rights, that 
him ought to have of right, nor to put him out of that which he now injoieth, and 
hath had before time by custome or good law of this realme, except such 
privat persons as have beene against the good purpose, and the common profit of 
the realme." When he had thus ended, all the shirilfes and other officers were 
put in their authorities againe, to exercise the same as before, which they could 
not doo whilest the kings roiall throne was void. Moreover, a proclamation was 
made that the states should assemble againe in parlement on mondaie then next 
insuing, being the feast day of saint Faith, which is the sixt of October ; and that 
the monday then next following, being the 13 of the same moneth, and the feast 





da7 of saint Edward the king and confessor, the coronation should be solemnized, and 
that all such as had to claime any service to be doone by them at the same by any 
tenure, they should come to the White-hall, in the kings palace, before the 
steward and constable of England, on Saturdaie next before the same day of the 
parlement, and presenting their petitions that were due and rightful!, they should 
obteine that to them apperteined. Excuse was also made on the kings behalfe, for 
calling of a parlement upon so short a warning, so as the knights and burgesses were 
not changed, but onelie appointed to assemble againe, as if the other parlement 
had rather beene continued than dissolved. The cause was alledged to be for 
easing of the charges that would have risen, if ech man had beene sent home, and 
new knights and burgesses called. These things doone, the king rose from his 
place, and with a cheerefull and right courteous countenance regarding the people 
went to White-hall, where the same day he held a great feast. In the after-noone 
were proclamations made in the accustomed places of the citie, in the name of king 
Henrie the fourth. On the morrow following, being wednesdaie and first of 
October, the procurators above named repaired to the tower of London, and there 
signified unto king Eichard the admission of king Henrie. And the aforesaid 
justice William Thirning, in name of the other, and for all the states of the land, 
renounced unto the said Eichard late king, all homage and fealtie unto him before 
time due, in maner and forme as apperteined. Which renuntiation to the deposed 
king, was a redoubling of his greefe, in so much as thereby it came to his mind, 
how in former times he was acknowledged and taken for their liege lord and 
sovereigne, who now, whether in contempt or in malice, God knoweth, to his face 
forsware him to be their king. Thus was king Eichard deprived of all kingiie 
honour and princelie dignitie, by reason he was so given to follow evill counsell, 
and used such inconvenient waies and meanes, through insolent misgovernance, 
and youthfull outrage, though otherwise a right noble and woorthie prince. He 
reigned two and twentie yeares, three moneths and eight daies. He dehvered to 
king Henrie now that he was thus deposed, all the goods that he had, to the 
summe of three hundred thousand pounds in coine, besides plate and jewels, as a 
pledge and satisfaction of the injuries by him committed and doone, in hope to be 
in more suertie of life for the deliverie thereof : but whatsoever was promised, he 
was deceived therein. Eor shortlie after his resignation, he was conveied to the 
castell of Leeds in Kent, and from thence to Pomfret, where he departed out of 
this miserable life, as after you shall heare. He was seemelie of shape and favor, 
and of nature good inough, if the wickednesse and naughtie demeanor of such as 
were about him had not altered it. He was prodigall, ambitious, and much given 
to the pleasure of the bodie. He kept the greatest port, and mainteined the most 
plentifuU house that ever any king in England did either before his time or since. 
Eor there resorted dailie to his court above ten thousand persons that had meat 
and drinke there allowed them. In his kitchen there were three hundred servitors, 
and everie other ofiice was furnished after the like rate. Of ladies, chamberers, 
and landerers, there were above three hundred at the least. And in gorgious and 
costlie apparell they exceeded all measure, not one of them that kept within the 
bounds of his degree. Yeomen and groomes were clothed in silkes, with cloth of 
graine and skarlet, over sumptuous ye may be sure for their estates. ' And this 
vanitie was not onelie used in the court in those daies, but also other people abroad 
in the towns and countries, had their garments cut far otherwise than had beene 
accustomed before his daies, with imbroderies, rich furres, and goldsmiths worke, 
and everie dale there was devising of new fashions to the great hinderance and 
decaie of the common- welth. 

The solemnitie of the coronation being ended, the morow after being tuesdaie, 
the parlement began againe, and the next dale sir John Cheinie that was speaker, 





excusing liimselfe, by reason of his infirmitie and sicknesse, not to be able to 
exercise tliatroome, was dismissed, and one "William Durward esquier was admitted. 
Herewith were the acts established in the parlement of the one and twentith 
ycare of king Eichards reigne repealed and made void, and the ordinances 
devised in the parlement holden the eleventh yeare of the same king, confirmed, 
and againe established for good and profitable. On the same dale, the kings 
eldest Sonne lord Henrie, by assent of all the states in the parlement, was created 
prince of Wales, duke of Cornwall, and earle of Chester, then being of the age of 
twelve yeares. Upon the thursdaie, the commons came and rehearsed all the 
errors of the last parlement holden in the one and twentith yeare of king Bichard, 
and namelie in certeine five of them. — Eirst, that where the king that now is, was 
readie to arraigne an appeale against the duke of Norfolke, he dooing what 
perteined to his dutie in that behalfe, was yet banished afterwards without anie 
reasonable cause. Secondlie, the archbishop of Canturburie, metropolitan of the 
realme, was forejudged without answer. Tliirdlie, the duke of Glocester was 
murthered, and after forejudged. Eourthlie, where the earle of Arundell alledged 
his charters of pardon, the same might not be allowed. Eiftlie, that all the 
power of that evill parlement was granted and assigned over to certeine persons, 
and sith that such heinous errors could not be committed, as was thought, without 
the assent and advise of them that were of the late kings councell, they made sute 
that they might be put under arrest, and committed to safe keeping, till order 
might be further taken for them. Thus much adoo there was in this parlement, 
speciallie about them that were thought to be guiltie of the duke of Glocesters 
death, and of the condemning of the other lords that were adjudged traitors in the 
forsaid late parlement holden in the said one and twentith yeare of king Eichards 
reigne. Sir John Bagot knight, then prisoner in the tower, disclosed manie 
secrets, unto the which he was privie ; and being brought on a dale to the barre, 
a bill was read in English which he had made, conteining certeine evill practises 
of king Eichard ; and further what great affection the same king bare to the duke 
of Aumarle, insomuch that he heard him say, that if he should renounce the 
governement of the kingdome, he wished to leave it to the said duke, as to the 
most able man, for wisdome and manhood, of all other; for though he could like 
better of the duke of Hereford, yet he said that he knew if he were once king, he 
would prove an extreame enimie and cruell tyrant to the church. It was further 
conteined in that bill, that as the same Bagot rode on a dale behind the duke of 
Norfolke in the Savoy street toward AYestminster, the duke asked him what he 
knew of the manner of the duke of Glocester his death, and he answered that he 
knew nothing at all ; but the people, quoth he, doo say that you have murthered 
him. Whereunto the duke sware great othes that it was untrue, and that he had 
saved his life contrarie to the will of the king, and certeine other lords, by the 
space of three weeks, and more ; affirming withall, that he was never in all his life 
time more affraid of death, than he was at his comming home againe from Calls 
at that time, to the kings presence, by reason he had not put the duke to death. 
And then, said he, the king appointed one of his owne servants, and certeine other 
that were servants to other lords to go with him to see the said duke of Glocester 
put to death, swearing that as he should answer afore God, it was never his mind 
that he should have died in the fort, but onelie for feare of the king, and saving 
of his owne life. Neverthelesse, there was no man in the realme to whom king 
Eichard was so much beholden, as to the duke of Aumarle; for he was the man 
that to fulfill his mind, had set him in hand with all that was doone against the 
said duke, and the other lords. There was also conteined in that bill, what secret 
malice king Eichard had conceived against the duke of Hereford being in exile, 
whereof the same Bagot had sent intelligence unto the duke into Erance, by one 




Roger Smart, who certified it to him by Piers Buckton, and others, to the intent 
he should the better have regard to himselfe. There was also conteined in the 
said bill, that Bagot had heard the duke of Aumarle say that he had rather than 
twentie thousand pounds that the duke of Hereford were dead, not for anie feare 
he had of him, but for the trouble and mischeefe that he was like to procure 
within the realme. After that the bill had beene read and heard, the duke of 
Aumarle rose up and said, that, as touching the points conteined in the bill 
concerning him, they were utterlie false and untrue, which he would prove with his 
bodie, in what manner soever it should be thought requisit. Therewith also the 
duke of Excester rose up, and willed Bagot that if he could say anie thing against 
him to speake it openlie. Bagot answered, that for his part he could say nothing 
against him : But there is, said he, a yeoman in Newgat one John Hall that can 
say somewhat. Well then, said the duke of Excester, " this that I doo and shall 
say is true, that the late king, the duke of Norfolke, and thou being at "Woodstoke, 
made me to go with you into the chappell, and there the doore being shut, ye 
made me to sweare upon the altar, to keepe counsell in that ye had to say to me, 
and then ye rehearsed that we should never have our purpose, so long as the duke 
of Lancaster lived, and therefore ye purposed to have councell at Lichfield, and 
there you would arrest the duke of Lancaster, in such sort as by colour of his 
disobeieng the arrest, he should be dispatched out of life. And in this manor ye 
imagined his death. To the which I answered, that it were convenient the king 
should send for his councell, and if they agreed hereunto, I would not be against 
it, and so I departed." To this Bagot made no answer. After this, the king 
commanded that the lords, Berkleie, and Lovell, and sir knights of the lower liouse, 
should go after dinner to examine the said Hall. This was on a thursdaie being 
the fifteenth of October. On the saturdaie next insuing, sir William Bagot and 
the said John Hall were brought both to the barre, and Bagot was examined of 
certeine points, and sent againe to prison. The lord Eitz water herewith rose up, 
and said to the king, that where the duke of Aumarle excuseth himselfe of the 
duke of Glocesters death, I say, quoth he, that he was the verie cause of his 
death, and so he appealed him of treason, offering by throwing downe his hood as 
a gage to prove it with his bodie. There were twentie other lords also that threw 
downe their hoods, as pledges to prove the like matter against the duke of 
Aumarle. The duke of Aumarle threw downe his hood to trie it against the lord 
Eitzwater, as against him that lied falselie, in that he had charged him with, by 
that his appeale. These gages were delivered to the constable and marshall of 
England, and the parties put under arrest. The duke of Surrie stood up also 
against the lord Eitzwater, avouching that where he had said that the appellants 
were causers of the duke of Glocesters death, it was false, for they were con- 
strained to sue the same appeale, in like manner as the said lord Eitzwater was 
compelled to give judgement against the duke of Glocester, and the carle of 
Arundell ; so that the suing of the appeale was doone by constraint, and if he 
said contrarie he lied : and therewith he threw downe his hood. The lord 
Eitzwater answered hereunto, that he was not present in the parlement house, 
when judgement was given against them, and all the lords bare witnesse thereof. 
Moreover, where it was alledged that the duke of Aumarle should send two of his 
servants to Calls, to murther the duke of Glocester, the said duke of Aumarle 
said, that if the duke of Norfolke afiirme it, he lied falselie, and that he would 
prove with his bodie, throwing downe an other hood which he had borowed. 
The same was likewise delivered to the constable and marshall of England, and 
the king licenced the duke of Norfolke to returne, that he might arraigne his 
appeale. After this was John Hall condemned of treason by authoritie of the 
parlement, for that he had confessed himselfe to be one of them that put the duke 




of Gloccster to death at Calis, and so on the mondaie following, he was drawne 
from the Tower to Tiburne, and there hanged, bowelled, headed, and quartered ; 
his head being sent to Calis there to be set up, where the duke was murthered. 
On wednesdaie following, request was made by the commons, that sith king 
Richard had resigned, and was lawfullie deposed from his roiall dignitie, he might 
have judgement decreed against him, so as the realme were not troubled by him, 
and that the causes of his deposing might be published through the realme for 
satisfieng of the people ; which demand was granted. Whereupon the bishop of 
Carleill, a man both learned, wise, and stout of stomach, boldlie shewed foorth his 
opinion concerning that demand ; affirming that there was none amongst them 
woorthie or meet to give judgement upon so noble a prince as king Richard was, 
whom they had taken for their sovereigne and liege lord, by the space of two and 
twentie yeares and more ; " And I assure you," said he, " there is not so ranke a 
traitor, nor so errant a tbeef, nor yet so cruell a murtherer apprehended or deteined 
in prison for his offense, but he shall be brought before the justice to heare his 
judgement ; and will ye proceed to the judgement of an anointed king, hearing 
neither his answer nor excuse ? I say, that the duke of Lancaster, whom ye call 
king, liath more trespassed to king Richard and his realme, than king Richard 
hath doone either to him, or us ; for it is manifest and well knowne, that the duke 
was banished the realme by king Richard and his councell, and by the judgement 
of his owne father, for the space of ten yeares, for what cause ye know, and yet 
without licence of king Richard, he is returned againe into the realme, and, that 
is woorse, hath taken upon him the name, title, and preheminence of king. And 
therfore I say, that you have doone manifest wrong, to proceed in anie thing 
against king Richard, without calling him openlie to his answer and defense." 
As soone as the bishop had ended this tale, he was attached by the earle marshall, 
and committed to ward in the abbeie of saint Albons. After this came the lord 
Eitzwater, and praied to have day and place to arreigne his appeale against the 
earle of Rutland. The king said he would send for the duke of Norffolke 
to returne home, and then upon his returne he said he would proceed in that 

But now to speake of the conspiracie, which was contrived by the abbat of 
Westminster as cheefe instrument thereof. Ye shall understand that this abbat, 
as it is reported, upon a time heard king Henrie saie, when he was but earle of 
Derbie, and yoong of yeares, that princes had too little, and religious men too much. 
He therfore doubting now, least if the king continued long in the estate, he would 
remoove the great beame that then greeved his eies, and pricked his conscience, 
became an instrument to search out the minds of the nobilitie, and to bring them 
to an assemblie and councell, where they might consult and commen togither, how 
to bring that to effect, which they earnestlie wished and desired ; that was, the 
destruction of king Henrie, and the restoring of king Richard. Eor there were 
diverse lords that shewed themselves outwardlie to favor king Henrie, where they 
secretlie wished and sought his confusion. The abbat, after he had felt the minds 
of sundrie of them, called to his house on a day in the terme time, all such lords 
and other persons which he either knew or thought to be as aifectioned to king 
Richard, so envious to the prosperitie of king Henrie, whose names were, John 
Holland earle of Huntington late duke of Excester, Thomas Holland earle of 
Kent late duke of Surrie, Edward earle of Rutland late duke of Aumarle sonne to 
the duke of Yorke, John Montacute earle of Salisburie, Hugh lord Spenser late 
earle of Glocester, John the Bishop of Carleill, sir Thomas Blunt, and Maudelen 
a priest one of king Richards chappell, a man as like hira in stature and proportion 
in all lineaments of bodie, as unlike in birth, dignitie, and conditions. The abbat 
higldie feasted these lords, his speciall freends, and when they had well dined, they 




withdrew into a secret chamber, where they sat downe in councell, and after much 
talke and conference had about the bringing of their purpose to passe concerning 
the destruction of king Henrie, at length by the adrise of the earle of Huntington 
it was devised that they should take upon them a solemne justs to be enterprised 
betweene him and twenty on his part, and the earle of Salisburie and twenty with 
him at Oxford, to the which triumph King Henrie should be desired, and when he 
should be most busilie marking the martiall pastime, he suddenlie should be slaine 
and destroied, and so by that means king Eichard, who as yet lived, might be 
restored to libertie, and have his former estate and dignitie. It was further 
appointed, who should assemble the people, the number and persons which should 
accomplish and put in execution their devised enterprise. Herupon was an 
indenture sextipartite made, sealed with their scales, and signed with their hands, 
in the which each stood bound to other, to do their whole indevour for the accom- 
plishing of their purposed exploit. Moreover^ they sware on the holie evangelists 
to be true and secret each to other, even to the houre and point of death. When 
all things were thus appointed, the earle of Huntington came to the king unto 
Windsore, earnestlie requiring him that he would vouchsafe to be at Oxenford 
on the dale appointed of their justes, both to behold the same, and to be the 
discoverer and indifferent judge, if anie ambiguitie should rise, of their couragious 
acts and dooings. The king being thus instantlie required of his brother in law, 
and nothing lesse imagining than that which was pretended, gentlie granted to 
fulfill his request. Wliich thing obteined, all the lords of the conspiracie 
departed home to their houses, as they noised it, to set armorers on worke about 
the trimming of their armour against the justs, and to prepare all other furniture 
and things readie, as to such an high and solemne triumph apperteined. The 
earle of Huntington came to his house and raised men on everie side, and prepared 
horsse and harnesse for his compassed purpose, and when he had all things readie 
he departed towards Oxenford, and at his comming thither, he found all his mates 
and confederates there, well appointed for their purpose, except the earle of 
Eutland, by whose follie their practised conspiracie was brought to light and 
disclosed to king Henrie. Eor this earle of Eutland departing before from 
Westminster to see his father the duke of Yorke, as he sat at dinner, had his 
counterpane of the indenture of the confederacie in his bosome. The father 
espieng it, would needs see what it was : and though the sonne humblie denied to 
shew it, the father being more earnest to see it, by force tooke it out of his 
bosome ; and perceiving the contents therof, in a great rage caused his horsses to 
be sadled out of hand, and spitefullie reprooving his sonne of treason, for whome 
he was become suertie and mainpernour for his good abearing in open parlement, 
he inconthientlie mounted on horssebacke to ride towards Windsore to the king, 
to declare unto him the malicious intent of his complices. The earle of Eutland 
seeing in what danger he stood, tooke his horsse, and rode another waie to 
Windsore in post, so that he got thither before his father, and when he was 
alighted at the castell gate, he caused the gates to be shut, saieng that he must 
needs deliver the keies to the king. When he came before the kings presence, 
he kneeled downe on his knees, beseeching him of mercie and forgivenesse, and 
declaring the whole matter unto him in order as everie thing had passed, obteined 
pardon. Therewith came his father, and being let in, delivered the indenture 
which he had taken from his sonne, unto the king, who thereby perceiving his 
sonnes words to be true, changed his purpose for his going to Oxenford, and 
dispatched messengers foorth to signifie unto the earle of Northumberland his 
high constable, and to the earle of Westmorland his high marshall, and to other 
his assured freends, of all the doubtfull danger and perillous jeopardie. The 
conspirators being at Oxenford, at length perceived by the lacke of the earle of 




Eutland, that their enterprise was revealed to the king, and thereupon determined 
now openhe with speare and shield to bring that to passe which before they 
covertlie attempted, and so they adorned Maudeleu, a man most resembling king 
Richard, in roiall and princelie vesture, and named him to be king Richard, 
aflivming that by favour of his keepers he was escaped out of prison, and so they 
came forwards in order of warre, to the intent to destroie king Henrie. Whilest 
the confederators with their new published idoll, accompanied with a strong armie 
of men, tooke the direct waie towards Windsore, king Henrie admonished thereof, 
with a few horssemen in the night came to the Tower of London about twelve of 
the clocke, where in the morning he caused the maior of the citie to apparell in 
armour the best and most couragious persons of the citie, which brought to him 
three thousand archers, and three thousand bill-men, besides them that were 
appointed to keepe and defend the citie. The conspirators comming to Windsore, 
entered the castell, and understanding that the king was gon from thence to 
London, determined with all speed to make towards the citie ; but changing that 
determination as they were on their waie, they turned to Colbroke, and there 
staled. King Henrie issuing out of London with twentie thousand men, came 
streiglit to Hunslo heath, and there pitched his campe to abide the coraming of 
his enimies ; but when they were advertised of the kings puissance, amazed with 
feare, and forthinking their begun enterprise, as men mistrusting their owne 
companie, departed from thence to Berkhamsteed, and so to Circester, and there 
the lords tooke their lodging. The earle of Kent, and the earle of Salisburie in 
one inne, and the earle of Huntington and lord Spenser in an other, and all the 
host laie in the fields, whereupon in the night season, the bailifiPe of the towne 
with fourescore archers set on the house, where the erle of Kent and tlie other 
laie, which house was manfullie assaulted and stronglie defended a great space. 
The earle of Huntington being in an other inne with the lord Spenser, set fire on 
diverse houses in the towne, thinking that the assailants would leave the assault 
and rescue their goods, which thing they nothing regarded. The host lieng 
without, hearing noise, and seeing this fire in the towne, thought verelie that king 
Henrie had beene come thither with his puissance, and thereupon fled without 
measure, everie man making shift to save himselfe, and so that which the lords 
devised for their helpe, wrought their destruction ; for if the armie that laie 
without the towne had not mistaken the matter, when they saw the houses on fire, 
they might easilie have succoured their cheefeteins in the towne, that were assailed 
but with a few of the townesmen, in comparison of the great multitude that laie 
abroad in the fields ; but such was the ordinance of the mightie Lord of hostes, 
who disposetli al things at his pleasure. The earle of Huntington and his 
companie seeing the force of the townesmen to increase, fled out on the backside, 
intending to repaire to the armie which they found dispersed and gone. Then 
the earle seeing no hope of comfort, fled into Essex. The other lords which were 
left fighting in the towne of Circester, were wounded to death and taken, and 
their heads stricken off and sent to London. Thus writeth Hall of this con- 
spiracie, in following what author I know not ; but Thomas Walsingham and 
diverse other seeme somewhat to dissent from him in relation of this matter ; for 
they write that the conspiratours ment upon the sudden to have set upon the king 
in the castell of Windsore, under colour of a maske or mummerie, and so to have 
dispatched him ; and restoring king Richard unto the kingdome, to have recovered 
their former titles of honour, with the possessions which they had lost by 
judgement of the last parlement. But the king getting knowledge of their 
pretended treasons, got him with all speed unto London. The conspirators, to 
wit, the earles of Kent and Salisburie, sir Rafe Lumlie, and others, supposing 
that the king had not understood their malicious purpose, the first sundaie of the 




new yeare (1400), which fell in the octaves of the Innocents, came in the 
twilight of the evening unto Windsore with foure hundred armed men, where 
understanding that the king was withdrawne upon warning had of their purposed 
intention, they foorthwith returned backe, and came first unto Sunnings, a manor 
place not farre from Beading, where the queene wife to king Richard then laie. 
Here setting a good countenance of the matter, the earle of Kent declared in 
presence of the queenes servants that the lord Henrie of Lancaster was fled from 
his presence with his children and freends, and had shut up himselfe and them in 
the Tower of London, as one afraid to come abroad, for all the brags made 
heretofore of his manhood : and therefore, saith he, my intention is, my lords, to 
go to Richard that was, is, and shall be our king, who being alreadie escaped 
foorth of prison, lieth now at Pomfret, with an hundred thousand men. And to 
cause his speech the better to be beleeved, he tooke awaie the kings cognisances 
from them that ware the same, as the collars from their necks, and the badges of 
cressants from the sleeves of the servants of houshold, and throwing them awaie, 
said that such cognisances were no longer to be borne. Thus having put the 
queene in a vaine hope of that which was nothing so, they departed from thence 
unto Wallingford, and after to Abington, intising the people by all meanes 
possible unto rebellion, all the waie as they went, and sending their agents abroad 
for the same purpose ; at length they came to Circester in the darke of the night, 
and tooke up their lodgings. The inhabitants of that towne suspecting the 
matter, and judging, as the truth was, these rumors which the lords spred abroad 
to be but dreams, they tooke thereupon counsell togither, got them to armor, and 
stopped all the entries and outgates of the innes where these new ghestes were 
lodged, insomuch that when they about midnight secretlie attempted to have come 
foorth, and gone their waies, the townesmen with bow and arrowes were readie to 
stale them, and keepe them in. The lords perceiving the danger, got them to 
their armor and weapons, and did their best by force to breake through and repell 
the townesmen. But after they had fought from midnight till three of the clocke 
in the afternoone of the next daie, and perceived they could not prevaile, they 
yeelded themselves to the townesmen, beseeching them to have their lives saved, 
till they might come to the kings presence. This request they had obteined, if a 
preest that was chapleine to one of them, had not in the meane time set fire upon 
certeine houses in the towne, to the end that whiles the townesmen should busie 
themselves to quench the fire, the lords might find meanes to escape. But it 
came nothing to passe as he imagined, for the townesmen leaving all care to save 
their houses from the rage of the fire, were kindled more in furie towards the lords, 
and so to revenge themselves of them, they brought them foorth of the abbeie where 
they had them in their hands, and in the twilight of the evening, stroke off their 
heads. The earle of Salisburie, saith Thomas Walsingham, who in all his lifetime 
had beene a favourer of the Lollards or Wicklevists, a despiser of images, a con- 
temner of canons, and a scorner of the sacraments, ended his dales, as it was 
reported, without the sacrament of confession. These be the words of Thomas 
Walsingham which are set downe, to signifle that the earle of Salisburie was a 
bidden ghest to Blockham feast with the rest ; and, as it should seeme by his 
relation, the more maligned, bicause he was somwhat estranged from the corruption 
of the religion then received, and leaned to a sect pursued with spitefulnesse and 
revenge. John Holland earle of Huntington, as Thomas Walsingham writeth 
was not with the lords at the castell of Windsore, but staled about London to 
behold the end of his businesse : and hearing how the matter went, farre contrarie to 
tliat he wished, lie sought to flie by sea ; but not able to get awaie, by reason the 
wind being contrarie would not permit him, he tooke his horsse, and having a knight 
with him called Sir John SheUie, he road into Essex, attempting to have fled from 
IX. 5 



thence by sea ; but still the wind was so agfainst him, that he was continuallie driven 
backe when he was about to make saile, and so comming againe to land, he was 
taken one evening at Pitwell in Essex, in a mill, that belonged to one of his 
trustie freends, as he sat there at supper, togither with the said sir John Shellie. 
The commons of the countrie that tooke him, brought him lirst to Chelmesford, 
and after to Plashie, where on the daie of S. Mam-e, that is the fifteenth of 
Jannarie, about sunsetting he was beheaded, in the verie place in which the duke 
of Gloccster was arrested by King Richard. He confessed with lamentable 
repentance, as writers doo record, that divers and manie waies he had offended 
God and his prince, bicause that understanding the purpose of the other lords, he 
had not revealed the same. The lord Hugh Spenser, otherwise called earle of 
Glocester, as he would have fled into Wales, was taken and carried to Bristow, 
where, according to the earnest desires of the commons, he was beheaded. 
IVfaudelen fleeing into Scotland, was taken by the waie, and brought to the Tower. 
jVIanie other that w^ere privie to this conspiracie, were taken, and put to death, 
some at Oxford, as sir Thomas Blunt, sir Benet Cilie knight, and Thomas 
Wintercell, esquier ; but sir Leonard Brokas, and sir John Shellie knights, John 
Maudelen, and William Eerbie chapleins, were drawne, hanged, and beheaded at 
London. There were nineteene in all executed in one place and other, and the 
heads of the cheefe conspirators were set on polles over London bridge, to the 
terror of others. Shortlie after, the abbat of Westminster, in whose house the 
conspiracie was begun, as is said, gooing betweene his monasterie and mansion, 
for thought fell into a sudden palsie, and shortlie after, without speech, ended his 
life. The bishop of Carleill was impeached, and condemned of the same 
conspiracie ; but the king of his mercifull clemencie, pardoned him of that 
offense, although he died shortlie after, more through feare than force of sicknesse, 
as some have written. Thus all the associats of this unhappie conspiracie tasted 
the painefull penance of their plesant pastime. 

Thus have yee heard what writers have recorded of this matter, with some 
difference betwixt them that write, how the king should have beene made awaie at 
a justs ; and other that testifie, how it should have beene at a maske or mummerie : 
but whether they meant to have dispatched him at a mumming, or at a justs, their 
purpose being revealed by the earle of Rutland, they were brought to confusion, as' 
Ijefore yee have heard. And immediatlie after, king Henrie, to rid himselfe of 
anie such like danger to be attempted against him thereafter, caused king Richard 
to die of a violent death, that no man should afterward faine himselfe to represent 
his person, though some have said, he was not privie to that wicked offense. The 
common fame is, that he was everie daie served at the table with costlie meat, like 
a king, to the intent that no creature should suspect anie thing doone contrarie to 
the order taken in the parlement ; and when the meat was set before him, he was 
forbidden once to touch it ; yea, he was not permitted so much as to smell to it, 
and so he died of forced famine. But Thomas Walsingham is so farre from 
imputing his death to compulsorie famine, that he referreth it altogether to 
voluntarie pining of himselfe. For when he heard that the complots and attempts 
of such his favourers, as sought his restitution, and their owne advancement, 
adniliilated ; and the cheefe agents shamefullie executed ; he tooke such a 
conceit at these misfortunes, for so Thomas Walsingham termeth them, and was 
so beaten out of hart, that wilfulhe he starved himselfe, and so died in Pomfret 
castell on S. Valentines daie : a happie daie to him, for it was the beginning of 
his ease, and the ending of his paine. One writer, which seemeth to have great 
knowledge of king Richards dooings, saith that king Henrie, sitting on a daie at 
his table, sore sighing, said ; " Have I no faithfull freend which will deliver me of 
him, whose life will be my death, and whose death will be the preservation of my 




life ?" This saieng was much noted of them which were present, and especialHe 
of one called Sir Piers of Exton. This knight incontinentlie departed from the 
court, with eight strong persons in his companie, and came to Pomfret, commanding 
tlie esquier that was accustomed to sew and take the assaie before king Eichard, 
to doo so no more, saieng; " Let him eat now, for he shall not long eat." King 
Richard sat downe to dinner, and was served without courtesie or assaie, whereupon 
much marvelling at the sudden change, he demanded of the esquier whie he did 
not his dutie ; "Sir" said he " I am otherwise commanded by sir Piers of Exton, 
which is newlie come from King Henrie." When king Richard heard that word, 
he tooke the kerving knife in his hand, and strake the esquier on the head, saieng, 
" The divell take Henrie of Lancaster and thee togither." And with that word, 
sir Piers entred the chamber, well armed, with eight tall men likewise armed, everie 
of them having a bill in his hand. King Richard perceiving this, put the table 
from him, and steping to the formost man, wrung the bill out of his hands, and so 
valiantlie defended himselfe, that he slue foure of those that thus came to assaile 
him. Sir Piers being halfe disraaied herewith, lept into the chaire where king 
Richard was woont to sit, while tlie other foure persons fought with him, and 
chased him about the chamber. And in conclusion, as King Richard traversed his 
ground, from one side of the chamber to an other, and comming by the chaire where 
sir Piers stood, he was felled with a stroke of a pollax which sir Piers gave him 
upon the head, and therewith rid him out of life, without giving him respit once 
to call to God for mercie of his passed offenses. It is said, that sir Piers of Exton, 
after he had thus slaine him, wept right bitterlie, as one striken with the pricke 
of a giltie conscience, for murthering him, whome he had so long time obeied as 
king. After he was thus dead, his bodie was imbalmed, and seered, and covered 
with lead, all save the face, to the intent that all men might see him, and perceive 
that he was departed this hfe ; for as the corps was conveied from Pomfret to 
London, in all the townesand places where those that had the conveiance of it did 
stale with it all night, they caused dirige to be soong in the evening, and masse of 
Requiem in the morning ; and as well after the one service as the other, his face 
discovered, was shewed to all that coveted to behold it. Thus was the corps first 
brought to the Tower, and after through the citie, to the cathedrall church of saint 
Paule bare-faced, where it laie three dales togither, that all men might behold it. 
There was a solerane obsequie doone for him, both at Paules, and after at West- 
minster, at which time, both at dirige overnight, and in the morning at the masse 
of Requiem, the king and the citizens of London were present. When the same 
was ended, the corps was commanded to be had unto Langlie, there to be buried 
in the church of the friers preachers. The bishop of Chester, the abbats of saint 
Albons and Waltham, celebrated the exequies for the buriall, none of the nobles 
nor anie of the commons, to accompt of, being present. 

The earliest notice of Shakespeare's play of Richard the 
Second is found in the books of the Stationers' Company, under 
the date of August 29th, 1597, — " Andrew Wise. — Entred for 
his copie by appoyntinent from Mr. Warden Man, the Tragedye 
of Richard the Seconde, vj.^Z." The edition here entered was 
pubhshed in the same year, under the foUowing title, — The 
Tragedie of King Richard the second. As it hath beene 
publikely acted by the Right Honourable the Lorde Chaniberlaine 
his Servants. London, printed by Valentine Simmes for 
Androw Wise, and are to be sold at his shop in Paules churcli 




yard at the signe of the Angel. 1597." In this edition, there is 
no mention of Shakespeare as the author ; hut the sale seems to 
have heen extensive, for in the next year a new impression 
appeared, and in that the author's name is distinctly given in 
the following title, — The Tragedie of King Riehard the second. 
As it hath heene puhlikely acted by the Right Honourable the 
Lord Chamberlaine his servants. By William Shakespeare. 
London, printed by Valentine Simmes for Andrew Wise, and 
are to be sold at his shop in Paules churchyard at the signe of 
the Angell. 1598." It is also mentioned, as the work of 
Shakespeare, by Meres, in the Palladis Tamia, published the 
same year, 1598 ; and several quotations from it, with the poet's 
name appended to most of them, but one erroneously ascribed 
to Drayton, occur in England's Parnassus, 1600. Andrew Wise 
appears to have retained the copyright until 1603, when the 
play is entered, with two others, under the date of June 27th, 
to Matthew Law, " all which, by consent of the company, are 
sett over to him from Andrew Wyse." No edition of Richard 
the Second was, however, issued by Law until the year 1608, 
when, for the first time, it appeared in a complete form, with 
the scene of the deposition of Richard, which is wanting in the 
two earlier editions. The portion here for the tirst time printed 
consists of all that involves the personal appearance of Richard, 
in the scene in the fourth act, commencing with the line, — 
" May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit,"and ending 
with the words, — " Lords, prepare yourselves." In the place of 
this, there is only, in eds. 1597, 1598, a short speech by 
Bolingbroke, in which he fixes the Wednesday following for the 
day of his coronation. Law, who used no doubt a copy of the 
edition of 1598, with the insertion above mentioned obtained 
from some other source, in the first instance took no notice of 
the addition, but issued the play with a title evidently copied 
from that of the previous editions, the company, after the 
accession of James the First, being no longer called the Lord 
Chamberlain's players ; — " The Tragedie of King Richard the 
second. As it hath been puhlikely acted by the Right 
Honourable the Lord Chamberlaine his servantes. By William 
Shakespeare. London, printed by W. W. for Mathew Law, 
and are to be sold at his shop in Paules Church-yard, at the 
signe of the Foxe. 1608." After some copies, with this title- 
page, had been issued, the publisher thought probably to render 
the work more attractive by bringing prominently into notice 




the superior value of the new edition, and a new title-page was 
substituted, the play in other respects being the same, — " The 
Tragedie of King Richard the Second : with new additions of 
the Parliament Sceane, and the deposing of King Richard. As 
it hath been lately acted by the Kinges Maiesties Seruantes, at 
the Globe. By William Shake-speare. At London, Printed by 
W. W. for Mathew Law, and are to be sold at his shop in 
Paules churchyard, at the signe of the Foxe. 1608." It was 
again republished by Law, after the lapse of seven years, under 
the following title, — " The Tragedie of King Richard the 
Second : with new additions of the Parliament Sceane, and the 
deposing of King Richard. As it hath been lately acted by the 
Kinges Maiesties seruants, at the Globe. By William Shake- 
speare. At London, Printed for Mathew Law, and are to be 
sold at his shop in Paules Church-yard, at the signe of the Foxe. 
1615." The next impression of the play is that contained in 
the collective folio edition of 1623, where it is entitled " the 
Life and Death of King Richard the Second," although the 
tragedy itself relates only to the last years of his reign. Soon 
after the appearance of the next folio edition in 1632, a separate 
edition of this history was issued in quarto by another publisher 
under the title of, — " The Life and Death of King Richard the 
Second. With new Additions of the Parliament Scene, and the 
Deposing of King Richard. As it hath beene acted by the 
Kings Majesties Servants, at the Globe. By Wilham Shake- 
speare. London, Printed by John Norton. 1634 ;" and it may 
perhaps be just worth notice that in London's Catalogue of the 
most vendible Books in England, 1658, " the life and death of 
Rich, the 2^," is one of the three quarto plays of Shakespeare 
which are mentioned in tliat work. 

The best authorities for the text of Richard the Second are 
the first edition of 1597, and that portion of the impression of 
1608 which contains the scene of the deposition not found in 
the earlier copies. With the exception of the latter insertion, 
the four quartos up to that of 1615 appear to have been printed 
in succession after each other, that of 1598 from that of 1597, 
that of 1608 from that of 1598, and that of 1615 from that of 
1608. The folio edition of 1623 was printed from a prompter's 
or play-house copy of the impression of 1615, in which several 
of the dialogues were shortened, often very injudiciously, for the 
sake of the convenience of the actors. The folio, however, 
contains a few brief additional sentences, some of which were 




probably derived from an autbentic copy ; but several of the 
readings not in the previous editions are evidently conjeetural, 
and, on the whole, it can hardly be regarded as a good authority 
for the text, certainly not when placed in comparison with the 
early quartos. The editor of the folio also seems to have 
corrected his copy in some places by means of the edition of 
1G08, for although he has retained corruptions that satisfactorily 
prove the impression of 1615 was the basis of his text, yet there 
are so many verbal corrections that coincide with tlie readings of 
the preceding edition, there can be little doubt but that the 
latter was consulted. Norton's quarto edition of 1634 was 
merely reprinted from the copy of the play as it appears in the 
second folio edition of 1632, the various readings consisting of a 
few^ alterations and corrections made by the compositor. There 
can be no doubt that this drama continued popular up to this 
period, and that it was one of the established stock plays of the 
Globe theatre. The following interesting entry respecting two 
performances of it in the year 1631 occurs in the diary of Sir H. 
Herbert, a manuscript in the possession of the Earl of Powis, — 
" Received of Mr. Shanke, in the name of the kings company, 
for the benefitt of their summer day, upon the second daye of 
Richard the Seconde, at the Globe, this 12 of June, 1631, — 
5/. 6s. 6c?." The popularity of the tragedy at an earlier period 
is evidenced by the fact of its being selected, along with Hamlet, 
for private representation on board a ship bound for the East 
Indies in the year 1607. The following memorandum occurs 
in the journal of the Dragon, commanded by Captain Keeling, 
bound with the Hector, commanded by Captain Hawkins, 
towards the East Indies, — " 1607. September 30. — Captain 
Hawkins dined with me, wher my companions acted Kinge 
Richard the Second." The original manuscript, in which this 
entry occurs, is preserved in tlie archives of the East India 
House. The vessel, at the time of the performance, was at 
Sierra Leone. 


King Eichard the Second. 

Edmund or Langley, Bulce of York, 1 

\ Uncles to the King. 
John op G aunt, Buhe of Lancaster, J 

Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Buhe of Hereford, son to John 

of Gaunt ; afterwards King Henry IV. 
Duke oe Aumerle, son to the duJce of York. 
Thomas Mowbray, Bu/ce of Norfolk. 
Richard Scroop, Archbishop of York. 
Duke oe Surrey. 
Earl op Salisbury. 
Lord Berkley. 
Sir John Bushy. 
Sir William Bagot. 
Sir Thomas Green. 
Earl oe Northumberland. 
Henry Percy, his son. 
Lord Ross. 
Lord Willoughby. 
Lord Fitz-w alter. 
Bishop of Carlisle. 
Abbot of Westminster. 
Sir Pierce of Exton. 
Sir Stephen Scroop. 
Captain of a band of Welshmen. 

Queen to King Richard. 
Duchess op Gloster. 
Duchess op York. 
Lady attending on the Queen. 

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, tico Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, 

and other Attendants. 

SCENE, — dispersedly in England and Wales. 

%d i)^t Jfirsi 

SCENE I. — Windsor.' A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Richard, attended ; John of Gaunt, and other 


K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster/ 
Hast thou, according to thy oath and bond,^ 
Brought hither Henry Hereford* thy bold son. 
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, 
Which then our leisure would not let us hear, 
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? 

Gaunt. I have, my liege. 

K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, 
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice ;^ 
Or worthily, as a good subject should, 
On some known ground of treachery in him ? 

Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argument, — 
On some apparent danger seen in him 
Aim'd at your highness, — no inveterate malice. 

K. Rich. Then call them to our presence : face to face, 
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear 
The accuser and the accused freely speak : — 

\_Exemit some Attendants. 
High -stomach 'd are they both, and full of ire, 
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 
IX. 6 



[act t. sc. t. 

Re-enter Attendants, icith Bolingbroke" and Norfolk. 

Boling. IMany years of happy days befaF 
IMy gracious sovereio*n, my most loving liege ! 

Nor. Each day still better other's happiness ; 
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap. 
Add an immortal title to vour crown ! 

K. Rich. We thank you both : yet one but flatters us, 
As well appeareth by the cause you come ;^ 
Namely, to appeal each other'' of high treason. — 
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object 
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? 

Boling. First (heaven be the record to my speech !) 
In the devotion of a subject's love, 
Tendering the precious safety of my prince. 
And free from other misbegotten hate,^'' 
Come I appellant to this princely presence. — 
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, 
And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak 
My body shall make good upon this earth, 
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. 
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, 
Too good to be so, and too bad to live, — 
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky. 
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. 
Once more, the more to aggravate the note. 
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat ; 
xVnd wish (so please my sovereign), ere I move. 
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove. 

iN or. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal : 
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, 
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues. 
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain ; 
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this : 
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, 
As to be hush'd, and naught at all to say : 
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me 
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech ; 
Which else would post until it had return'd 
These terms of treason doulded down his throat. 

ACT I. SC. T.] 



Setting aside his high blood's royalty, 
And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 
I do defy him, and I spit at him ; 
Call him a slanderous coward and a villain : 
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds ; 
And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot 
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 
Or any other ground inhabitable,^^ 
Wherever Englishman durst set his foot. 
Meantime let this defend my loyalty, — 
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 

Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage. 
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king ; 
And lay aside my high blood's royalty. 
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. 
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength. 
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop : 
By that and all the rites of knighthood else. 
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm. 
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.^' 

Nor. I take it up ; and by that sword I swear. 
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, 
I'll answer thee in any fair degree. 
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial : 
And when I mount, alive may I not light, 
If I be traitor or unjustly fight ! 

K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge ? 
It must be great that can inherit us^^ 
So much as of a thought of ill in him, 

Boling. Look, w4iat I speak, my life shall prove it true ; — 
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles 
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, 
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,^* 
Like a false traitor and injurious villain. 
Besides, I say, and will in battle prove, — 
Or here, or elsewhere to the furthest verge 
That ever was survey'd by English eye, — 
That all the treasons for these eighteen years 
Complotted and contrived in this land 
Fetch'd from false Mowbray their first head and spring. 
Further, I say, — and further will maintain 
Upon his bad life to make all this good, — 

44 RICHARD THE SECOND. [act i. sc. t. 

That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death/' 

Sugijcst his soon-beheving adversaries/^ 

And consequently, like a traitor-coward, 

Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood : 

Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, 

Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, 

To nie for justice and rough chastisement ; 

And, by the glorious worth of my descent, 

This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. 

A'. Rich. IIow high a pitch his resolution soars ! — 
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this ? 

Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, 
And bid his ears a little while be deaf. 
Till I have told this slander of his blood, 
How God and good men hate so foul a liar ! 

K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears : 
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir 
(As he is but my father's brother's son), 
Now, by my sceptre's awe, 1 make a vow. 
Such neighbour-nearness to our sacred blood 
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul : 
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou ; 
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. 

Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart. 
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest ! 
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais 
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers ; 
The other part reserv'd I by consent. 
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt 
Upon remainder of a dear account,^^ 
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen :^ 
Now swallow down that lie. — For Gloster's death, — 
I slew him not ; but, to mine own disgrace. 
Neglected my sworn duty in that case. — 
For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, 
The honourable father to my foe. 
Once did I lay an ambush for your life, 
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul : 
But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, 
I did confess it ; and exactly begg'd 
Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. 



This is my fault : as for the rest appeal'd, 

It issues from the rancour of a villain, 

A recreant and most degenerate traitor : 

Which in myself I boldly will defend ; 

And interchangeably hurl down my gage 

Upon this overweening traitor's foot, 

To prove myself a loyal gentleman 

Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. 

In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 

Your highness to assign our trial-day. 

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen,^^ be rul'd by me ; 
Let's purge this choler without letting blood : 
This we prescribe, though no physician ; 
Deep malice makes too deep incision : 
Forget, forgive ; conclude and be agreed ; 
Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. 
Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; 
We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. 

Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age : — 
Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. 

K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. 

Gaunt. When, — Harry, when?^^ 

Obedience bids, — I should not bid again. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down ; we bid ; there is no boot. 

Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. 
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : 
The one my duty owes ; but my fair name — 
Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,^^ 
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. 
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here \ ^ 
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, 
The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood 
Which breath'd this poison. 

K. Rich. Rage must be withstood : — 

Give me his gage : — lions make leopards tame."* 

Nor. Yea, but not change their spots take but my shame. 
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, 
The purest treasure mortal times afford. 
Is spotless reputation ; that away, 
Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. 
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest 
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 

10 IIICIIAIID THE SECOND. [act i. sc. it. 

Mine lioiioiir is my life ; both grow in one ; 
Take honour from me, and my hfe is done : 
Then, dear my hege, mine honour let me try ; 
In that I live, and for that will I die. 

K. Rich' Cousin, throw down your gage ; do you begin. 

Boliny. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin ! 
Shall I seem erest-fallen in my father's sight ? 
Or with pale beggar-fear ' impeach my height 
Before this outdar'd dastard ? Ere my tongue 
Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, 
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 
The slavish motive of recanting fear. 
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, 
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. 

[Exit Gaunt. 

K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command ; — 
Which since we cannot do to make you friends. 
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it. 
At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day : 
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 
The swelling difference of your settled hate : 
Since we can not atone you, we shall see 
Justice design the victor's chivalry.^^ 
Lord marshal, command our officers-at-arms 
Be ready to direct these home alarms. \_Exeu7it. 

SCENE IL — London. A Room in the Duke of Lancaster's 


Enter Gaunt and Duchess of Gloster. 

Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Gloster's blood^^ 
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims. 
To stir against the butchers of his life ! 
But since correction lieth in those hands 
Which made the fault that we cannot correct, 
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ; 
Who, when they see^° the hours ripe on earth, 
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 

Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur ? 

ACT I. SC. II.] 


Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ? 

Edward's seven sons/^ whereof thyself art one, 

Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, 

Or seven fair branches springing from one root : 

Some of those seven are dried by nature's course. 

Some of those branches by the Destinies cut ; 

But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, 

One vial full of Edward's sacred blood. 

Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, 

One flourishing branch of his most royal root. 

Is hack'd down, and his summer-leaves all faded,^^ 

By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. 

Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine ! that bed, that womb. 

That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee. 

Made him a man ; and though thou liv'st and breath'st. 

Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent 

In some large measure to thy father's death. 

In that thou seest thv wretched brother die. 

Who was the model of thv father's life. 

Call it not patience. Gaunt, — it is despair : 

In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd. 

Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life. 

Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee : 

That which in mean men we entitle patience, 

Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 

What shall I say ? to safeguard thine own life. 

The best way is to venge my Gloster's death. 

Gaunt. God's is the quarrel ; for God's substitute. 
His deputy anointed in his sight. 
Hath caus'd his death : the which if wrongfully, 
Let heaven reveno;e : for I mav never lift 
An angry arm against his minister. 

Ducli. Where, then, alas, may I complain myself 

Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and defence. 

Duch. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. 
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold 
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight : 
O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear. 
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast I 
Or, if misfortune miss the first career. 
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom. 
That they may break his foaming courser s back, 



[act 1. sc. III. 

And throw the rider headlong m the Hsts, 
A caitiff recreant to mv cousin Hereford ! 
Farewell, old Gaunt : thy sometimes brother's wife 
With her companion grief must end her life. 

Gaunt. Sister, farewell ; I must to Coventry ; 
As much good stay with thee as go with me I 

Duck. Yet one word more : — grief boundeth where it falls. 
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight : 
I take my leave before I have begun ; 
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. 
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. 
Lo, this is all ; — nay, yet depart not so ; 
Though this be all, do not so quickly go ; 
I shall remember more. Bid him — O, what ? — 
With all good speed at Plashy^^ visit me. 
Alack, and what shall good old York there see. 
But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,^*^ 
Unpeopled offices,^^ untrodden stones? 
And what cheer there'^ for welcome, but my groans ? 
Therefore commend me ; let him not come there. 
To seek out sorrow ; — that dwells every where. 
Desolate, desolate, w411 I hence and die : 

The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exeu. 

SCENE III. — Gosford Green, near Coventry. 

Lists set out, and a throne -^^ heralds^ SfC, attending. Enter the 
Duke of S URREY as Lord Marshal,*^ and Aumerle as High 
Constable of England. 

Surrey. My Lord Aumerle,*^ is Harry Hereford arm'd? 

Aum. Yea, at all points and longs to enter in. 

Surrey. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold. 
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 

Aum. Why, then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay 
For nothing but his majesty's approach. 




Flourish of trumpets. Enter King Richard, who takes his seat 
on his throne; Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green, and others, 
who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and answered hy 
another trumpet within. Then enter Norfolk in armour, 
preceded hy a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion 
The cause of his arrival here in arms : 
Ask him his name ; and orderly proceed 
To swear him in the justice of his cause. 

Surrey. In God's name and the king's, say who thou art, 
And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms ; 
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel : 
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thine oath ; 
As so defend thee heaven and thy valour 

Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray,** Duke of Norfolk ; 
Who hither come engaged by my oath 
(Which God defend a knight should violate !) 
Both to defend my loyalty and truth 
To God, my king, and my succeeding issue,*^ 
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me ; 
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, 
To prove him, in defending of myself, 
A traitor to my God, my king, and me : 
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 

Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke in armour, preceded by 

a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder kniglit in arms,*^ 
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither*^ 
Thus plated in habiliments of war ; 
And formally, according to our law, 
Depose him in the justice of his cause. 

Surrey. What is thy name ? and wherefore com'st thou hither. 
Before King Richard in his royal lists ? 
Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? 
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! 

Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms. 
To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, 

IX. 7 



[act I. sc. III. 

In lists, on Thomas ^lowbray, Duke of Norfolk, 
That he 's a traitor, foul and dangerous, 
To God of heaven. King Ki chard, and to me ; 
And as I truly light, defend me heaven ! 

Siorei/. On pain of death, no person be so bold 
Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,*^ 
Exeept the marshal and such officers 
Appointed to direct these fair designs. 

BoUmj. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand. 
And bow my knee before his majesty : 
For Mowbray and myself are like two men 
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ; 
Then let us take a ceremonious leave 
And loving farewell of our several friends. 

Surrey. The appellant in all duty greets your highness, 
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. 

K. Rich. We will descend and fold him in our arms. — 
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right. 
So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! 
Farewell, my blood ; which if to-day thou shed. 
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. 
Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear 

For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear : 
As confident as is the falcon's flight 

Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. — 

My loving lord, I take my leave of you ; — \To Surrey. 

Of you, my noble cousin. Lord Aumerle ; 

Not sick, although I have to do with death, 

But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. — 

Lo, as at English feasts, so 1 regreet 

The daintiest last, to make the end more sweet : 

O thou, the earthly author of my blood, — 

Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, 

Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up 

To reach at victory above my head, — 

Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ; 

And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, 

That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,*^ 

And furbish ^° new the name of John o'Gaunt, 

Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son. 

Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous ! 

Be swift like lightning in the execution ; 

ACT I. SC. in.] 



And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, 

Fall like amazing thunder on the casque 

Of thy adverse pernicious enenriy : 

Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. 

Baling . Mine innocence, and Saint George to thrive 

Nor. However God or fortune cast my lot, 
There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, 
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman : 
Never did captive with a freer heart 
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace 
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement. 
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate 
This feast of battle with mine adversary. — 
Most mighty liege, — and my companion peers, — 
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years : 
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,^^ 
Go I to fight : truth hath a quiet breast. 

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord ; securely I espy 
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. — 
Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 

Surrey. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right ! 

Baling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. 

Mar. Go bear this lance [to an Officer^ to Thomas, Duke of 

First Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, 
On pain to be found false and recreant, 
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 
A traitor to his God, his king, and him ; 
And dares him to set forward to the fight. 

Sec. Iler. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, 
On pain to be found false and recreant. 
Both to defend himself, and to approve 
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal ; 
Courageously, and with a free desire. 
Attending but the signal to begin. 

Surrey. Sound, trumpets ; and set forward, combatants. 

[A charge sounded. 
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.^^ 

K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, 


RICHAR13 THE SECOND. [act i. sc. hi. 

And both return back to their eluiirs again : — 
Withdraw with us : — and let the trumpets sound 
While we return these dukes what we decree. — 

[A long flourish. 

Draw near, [To the combatants. 

And list what with our couneil we have done. 

For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd 

With that dear blood whieh it hath fostered ; 

And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 

Of cruel wounds^* plough'd up with neighbours' swords ; 

And for we think the eagle-winged pride 

Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, 

With rival-hating envy, set on you 

To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle^^ 

Drawls the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ; 

Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums, 

With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray. 

And grating shock of wrathful iron arms. 

Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace. 

And make us wade even in our kindred's blood ; — 

Therefore we banish you our territories : 

You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,^^ 

Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields 

Shall not regreet our fair dominions, 

But tread the stranger paths of banishment. 

Boling. Your will be done : this must my comfort be, — 
That sun that warms you here shall shine on me ; 
And those his golden beams to you here lent 
Shall point on me and gild my banishment. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, 
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce : 
The sly-slow'^ hours shall not determinate 
The dateless limit of thy dear exile \ ^ 
The hopeless word of — never to return^^ — 
Breath I against thee, upon pain of life. 

l^or. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege. 
And all unlook'd-for from your highness' mouth : 
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 
As to be cast forth in the common air. 
Have I deserved'^'' at your highness' hands. 
The language I have learned these forty years, 
My native English, now I must forego : 

ACT I. SC. nr.] 



And now my tongue's use is to nie no more 

Than an unstringed viol or a harp ; 

Or Hke a cunning instrument cas'd up, 

Or, being open, put into his hands 

That knows no touch to tune the harmony : 

Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue 

Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips 

And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance 

Is made my gaoler to attend on me. 

I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, 

Too far in years to be a pupil now : 

What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death. 

Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath ? 

K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate 
After our sentence plaining comes too late. 

Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's light, 
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [Retiring. 

K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. 
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands ; 
Swear by the duty that you owe to God, — 
Our part therein we banish with yourselves,*^^ — 
To keep the oath that we administer : — 
You never shall — so help you truth and God ! — 
Embrace each other's love in banishment ; 
Nor never look upon each other's face 
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile 
This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate ; 
Nor never by advised purpose meet 
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 

Boling. I swear. 

Nor. And I, to keep all this. 

Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy \ ^ — 
By this time, had the king permitted us. 
One of our souls had wander' d in the air, 
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh. 
As now our flesh is banished from this land : 
Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm ; 
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
The clogging burden of a guilty soul. 

Nor. No, Bolingbroke : if ever I were traitor, 
My name be blotted from the book of life. 



[act I. sc. III. 

And I from heaven banisli'd, as from hence ! 

But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know ; 

And all too soon, I fear, the kmg shall rue. 

Farewell, my liege. — Now no way ean I stray : 

Save baek to England, all the world's my way.'"' [. 

K. Rich. Unele, even in the glasses of thine eyes 
I see thy grieved heart : thy sad aspect 
Hath from the number of his banished years 
Pluek'd four away. — [To Bol'mg.^ Six frozen winters spent, 
Return with welcome home from banishment. 

Boling. How long a time lies in one little word ! 
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs 
End in a word : such is the breath of kings. 

Gaunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of me 
He shortens four years of my son's exile : 
But little vantage shall I reap thereby ; 
For, ere the six years that he hath to spend 
Can change their moons and bring their times about. 
My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light 
Shall be extinct with age and endless night ; 
My inch of taper will be burnt and done, 
And blindfold death not let me see my son. 

K. Eich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. 

Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give : 
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow. 
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow ; 
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, 
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage ; 
Thy word is current with him for my death. 
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 

K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, 
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave : 
Why at our justice seeui'st thou, then, to lower? 

Gaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. 
You urg'd me as a judge ; but I had rather 
You would have bid me argue like a father. 
O, had it been a stranger, not my child, 
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild : 
A partial slander sought I to avoid,''* 
And in the sentence my own life destroy 'd. 
Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, 
I was too strict to make mine own away ; 


ACT I. SC. III. ) 



But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue 
Against my will to do myself this wrong. 

K. Rich. Cousin, farewell ; — and, uncle, bid him so : 
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 

[Flourish. Exeunt King Richard and train. 

Aum. Cousin, farewell : what presence must not know, 
From where you do remain let paper show. 

Mar. My lord, no leave take I ; for I will ride. 
As far as land will let me, by your side. 

Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, 
That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends ? 

Baling. I have too few to take my leave of you, 
When the tongue's office should be prodigal 
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. 

Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 

Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. 

Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly gone. 

Boling. To men in joy ; but grief makes one hour ten. 

Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure. 

Boling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, 
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. 

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set 
The precious jewel of thy home-return. 

Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 
Will but remember me, what a deal of world 
I wander from the jewels that I love. 
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 
To foreign passages ; and in the end, 
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else 
But that I was a journeyman to grief 

Gaunt. All places, that the eye of heaven visits,^*^ 
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. 
Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; 
There is no virtue like necessity. 
Think not the king did banish thee, 
But thou the king -J^ woe doth the heavier sit. 
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 
Go say, I sent thee forth to purchase honour, 
And not, the king exil'd thee ; or suppose 
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air. 
And thou art flying to a fresher clime : 



[act 1. sc. IV. 

Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 

To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st : 

Suppose the singing-hirds musicians, 

The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, 

The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more 

Than a delightful measure or a dance ; 

For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 

The man that mocks at it and sets it light. 

Boling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand,^^ 
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ? 
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite 
By bare imagination of a feast ? 
Or wallow naked in December snow 
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat ? 
O, no ! the apprehension of the good 
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : 
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more 
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. 

Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way : 
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. 

Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell ; sweet soil, adieu , 
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ; 
Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, — 

Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman.'^ [^Exeunt. 

SCENE IV.— Eltham.'* A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green ; Aumerle 


K. Rich. We did observe.^^ — Cousin Aumerle, 
How far brought you high Hereford on his way ? 

Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so. 
But to the next highway, and there I left him. 

K. Rich. And say, what store of parting tears were shed ? 

Aum. Faith, none for me except the north-east wind 
Which then blew bitterly against our faces, 
Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance 
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 




K. Rich. Wliat said our cousin when you parted with him ? 

Aum. " Farewell :" 
And, for my heart disdained that my tongue 
Should so profane the word that taught me craft 
To counterfeit oppression of such grief, 
That word seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. 
Marry, would the word ''farewell" have lengthen'd hours, 
And added years to his short banishment, 
He should have had a volume of farewells ; 
But, since it would not, he had none of me. 

K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin ; but 'tis doubt, 
When time shall call him home from banishment. 
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. 
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,^^ 
Observ'd his courtship to the common people ; 
How he did seem to dive into their hearts 
With humble and familiar courtesy ; 
What reverence he did throw away on slaves ; 
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles. 
And patient underbearing of his fortune. 
As 'twere to banish their affects with him. 
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench {'^ 
A brace of draymen bid God speed him well. 
And had the tribute of his supple knee,^^ 
With, — " Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends ;" 
As were our England in reversion his. 
And he our subjects' next degree in hope. 

Green. Well, he is gone ; and with him go these thoughts. 
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, — 
Expedient^" manage must be made, my liege. 
Ere further leisure yield them further means 
For their advantage and your highness' loss. 

K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war : 
And, for our coffers, — with too great a court 
And liberal largess, — are grown somewhat light. 
We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm ; 
The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
For our affairs in hand. If that come short. 
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters 
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich 
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, 
IX. 8 



[act I. sc. IV. 

And send them after to supply our wants ; 
For w'c will make for Ireland presently. 

Enter Bushy, in haste.^^ 

Bushy, what news ? 

Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, 
Suddenly taken ; and hath sent post-haste 
To entreat your majesty to visit him. 

K. Rich. Where lies he? 

Bushy. At Ely-house.'' 

A'. Rich. Now put it. Heaven, in his physician's mind 
'Vu help him to his grave immediately ! 
The lining of his coffers shall make coats 
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. — 
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him : 

Pray God we may make haste, and come too late ! [Exeunt. 

^ Windsor. 

No place for this scene is mentioned in the early editions, and London is the 
locality given by the modern editors ; but the conference took place at Windsor, 
as recorded by Holinshed, p. 493, — "after the dissolving of the parlement at 
Shrewsburie, there was a daie appointed, about six weeks after, for the king to 
come unto Windsor to heare and to take some order betwixt the two dukes, which 
liad thus appealed ech other." 

^ Old John of Gaunt, time-honour' d Lancaster. 

Our ancestors, in their estimate of old age, appear to have reckoned somewhat 
diflPerently from us, and to have considered men as old whom we should now 
esteem middle aged. With them, every man that had passed fifty seems to have 
been accounted an old man. John of Gaunt, who is here introduced in that 
character with the additional of " time-honour d Lancaster," was at this time only 
58 years old. He was born at Ghent (spelt and pronounced in English, Gaunt) 
in 1340, and our present play commences in 1398 ; he died in 1399, aged 59. 
King Henry is represented by Daniel, in his poem of Rosamond, as extremely old 
when he had a child by that lady. Henry was born at Mentz in 1133, and died 
on the 7th July, 1189, at the age of 56. Uobert, Earl of Leicester, is called an 
old man by Spencer in a letter to Gabriel Harvey in 1582 ; at which time 
Leicester was not 50 years old : and the French Admiral Coligny is represented 
by his biographer. Lord Huntington, as a very old man, though at the time of 
his death he was but 53. These various instances fully ascertain what has 
been stated, and account for the appellation here given to John of Gaunt. I 
believe this is made in some measure to arise from its being customary to enter 
into life, in former times, at an earlier period than we do now. Those who were 
married at fifteen, had at fifty been masters of a house and family for thirty-five 
years. — Malone. 

^ Hast thou, according to thy oath and hond. 
Bond is spelt land in the old editions, but the latter is a mere variation of 



ortliograpliy. The more modern spelling is adopted in Tate's alteration, 1681, 
p. 1. Tlie king here speaks to the Duke of Lancaster, as pledge and assurance 
for his son's aj)pearance; for the combatants upon the challenge, or acceptance of 
it, were bound to bring in sufficient pledges for surety, that they, and every of 
them, should appear, and perform the combat, betwixt the sun rising and going 
down of the day, appointed for the acquittal of their pledges. The day of the 
battle, the constable and marshal called before them the pledges, as well of the 
defendant, as of the challenger, to be shew'd, and presented unto the king, there 
to remain within the lists as prisoners, until such time as the challenger and 
defendant were come, and had perform'd all their ceremonies. See Segar, iii. 17. 
To this Spenser seems to allude in the combat of the three brethren with Cambel, 
for Canacee, book 4, canto 3. — Grey. 

Brought liitlier Henry Hereford. 

It is clear, from the original quarto copy of this play, 1597, where we 
constantly find Bolingbroke's title written Herford, that the author used the word 
as a dissyllable. Hardynge, in his Chroniele, always writes either Herford or 
Harford ; and so also Rastal, in his Pastime of the People. This, therefore, we 
may be sure, was the pronunciation of Shakespeare's time, as well as of a preceding 
period. — Malone. 

In the speech of Eichard after the entrance of Bolingbroke, the title is printed 
Hereford in the editions of 1598, 1608, and 1615, as well as in the folio, 1623 ; 
and the most usual course in the later part of this play, in the oldest edition as 
well as in the folio, 1623, is to print it Hereford. On the other hand, in the 
first scene of Henry IV., part i, we have Herefordshire uniformly printed, 
Herdfordshire, in the quarto editions, and Herefordshire in the folio. Daniel, in 
his Civil Wars, 1595, always prints Bolingbroke's title, Herford. — Knight. 

It is often printed Herford in the first folio, and altered to Hereford in the 
second edition of 1632. 

^ If he appeal the diike on ancient malice. 

The origin of the quarrel between these two peers has never been satisfactorily 
explained, but that there was some ground for " malice" is so obvious that 
Shakespeare, in this and the next speech, only goes so far as to say that no 
confession of ill will could be obtained. 

This yere also, about the feest of seynt Bartholraew, fell dysceucion and 
discorde atwene duke of Herforde and the duke of Norfolke, wherefore the duke 
of Herforde accusyd that other that he had taken iiij. M. marke of the kynges, of 
suche money as he shulde therewith have wagyd certeyne sowdyours at Calays, he 
lefte undon, and toke the same money to his owne use. But another wryter 
sayeth, that as the sayd ij. dukys rode upon a tyme from the parlyament tcwarde 
theyr lodgynges, the duke of Norfolke sayd unto that other, " Sir, see you not 
howe varyable the kynge is in his wordis, and how shamefully he puttyth his lordes 
and kynnesfolkys to deth, and other exylyth and holdyth in pryson ; wherfore full 
necessary it is to take kepe, and not for to truste moclie in his wordis, for without 
dowte in tyme to come, he wyll by suche lyke meanys bryng us unto lyke deth 
and distruccion." Of which wordys the sayd duke of Herforde accusyd tliat other 
unto the kynge ; wherefore eyther wagyd batayle with other before the kyng, to 
whom day of raetynge was geven to eyther upon the xj. daye of Septembre, to 
fyght within listys at Coven tre, where all thynge was ordeyned for. — Fahyans 



^ Bolinghrohe. 

Drayton asserts that Henry Plantagenet, the eldest son of John of Gaunt, 
Duke of Lancaster, was not distinguished by the name of Bolingbroke till after he 
had assumed the crown. Our ancient historians, in speaking of his contest with 
the Duke of Norfolk, denominate him Earl of Hereford. He was surnamed of 
Bolingbroke town, in Lincolnshire, from his having been born there about the 
year 1366. — Malone. 

^ Many years of happy days hefal. 

In strictness, this line is metrically imperfect, but there is no reason to suspect 
any corruption. Tate, in his Alteration, 1681, added now at the commencement 
of the line. 

^ By the cause you come. 

That is, by the cause you come on. The suppression of the preposition is by 
no means nnusual in Shakespeare. " And I remain a pinch'd thing, a very trick 
for them id play at will," Winter's Tale; that is, play on. 

® To appeal each other. 

Strutt says it should be appeach ; but there is evidence sufficient of appeal 
being used, in the present sense, by the old writers; and it is not a little 
remarkable, that it is so applied in the account of this very quarrel between 
Hereford and Norfolk, in Warner's Albion's England : — 

The other saying little, then, immediately reveales 

The secrete, and before the king his foe-made friend appeales. 

The word appeal appears to have been formerly used with much latitude ; and 
sometimes in such a way that it is not easy to find out what those who used it 
precisely meant by it. But according to its most ancient signification, it implies 
a reference by name to a charge or accusation, and an offer, or challenge, to 
support such charge by the ordeal of single combat. And something of this, its 
primary sense, may still be descried in all its various applications. Thus, an 
appeal from one person to another, to judge and decide ; or from an inferior to a 
superior court, is to transfer the challenge from such as are deemed incompetent 
to accept it, to those who may be competent : and, as " a summons to answer a 
charge," it is nearly equivalent to an actual challenge. 

And, likewise there were many Southland men that appelled others in Barrace 
to fight before the King to the dead, for certain crimes of lese majesty. — 
Pitscottie, p. 234. 

Here the word clearly means challenge : as in the preceding page the laird of 
Drumlanerick and the laird of Barrace are said to have provoked (which also 
means challenge) others in Barrace to fight to death. . . . but being appealed 
(challenged) by the Lord Clifford, an Englishman, to fight with him in singular 
combat. — Hist, of Scotland, f. 365. — Boucher. 

^° And free from other misbegotten hate. 

Other, old editions; wrath or, Perkins MS. Tate, in his Alteration, 1681, 
writes, — " Not on suggestions of a private hatred." 

We ask, how can Bolingbroke say he is " free from wrath,'^ when he directly 
after calls Mowbray "a traitor and a miscreant?" He does hate Mowbray; but 
he is free from any other hate than that which arises from " the devotion of a 
subject's love." His hate from this cause was legitimate, and not " misbegotten^" 
— Ktiight. 



Or any other ground inliahitahle. 

Inhabitable is a known word ; but in this passage it is used in a sense quite 
contrary to its usual acceptation, and means, not habitable, uninhabitable, 
incapable of inhabitants. In the same sense, the Erench use their word 
inhabitable, and the Latin inhabitabilis has sometimes the same meaning : and for 
this use of the word our bard has the authority of his contemporary Ben Jonson, 
who uses it in the same sense : — 

To cut such poisons from the earth, and let 

Their blood out, to be drawn away in clouds, 

And pour'd on some inhabitable place 

Where the hot sun and slime breeds nought but moisture ? 

The commentators seem to forget that much of our language is Norman, and 
that habitable was, for ages, the common expression for our present inhabitable in 
every part of the kingdom. 

And in such wise they were fro their way in a place inhabitable, that thei wist 
not what to thinke. — Guy of Warwick, 4ito. bl. lett. Q 3. 

Lest that thy bewty make this stately towne, 
Inhabitable, like the burning zone, 
With sweet reflections of thy lovely face. 

Old Taming of the Shrew. 

Again, in Taylor the water-poet's Short Eelation of a Long Journey, &c. 

" there stands a strong castle, but the town is all spoil'd, and almost 

inhabitable by the late lamentable troubles." Colher quotes a like instance of the 
word from Hey wood's General History of Women, 1624 : " Where all the 
country was scorched by the heat of the sun, and the place almost inhabitable for 
the multitude of serpents." A case still more in point occurs in Holland's 
Plutarch : " Haply by the divine providence so ordering all, that some parts of the 
world should be habitable, others inhabitable, according to excessive cold, extreme 
heat, and a mean temperature of both." — Var. Annot. 

// hat I have spohe, or thou canst worse devise. 

So the quarto 1597. Quarto 1598, "What I have spoke, or thou canst 
devise." Quarto 1608, " What I have spoke, or tohat thou canst devise." Eolio, 
" What I have spoken, or thou canst devise." — Boswell. 

The speaker's sense is that he would prove upon Mowbray, in single combat, 
what he had spoken, or what Mowbray could imagine him to have spoke, that was 
more infamous. — Capell. 

That can inherit us. 

This word is used by Shakespeare in the sense of to possess, or obtain, 
merely, without any reference to the strict notion of inheritance. Again, in 
Eomeo and Juliet, act. 1, sc. 2, — 

such delight 

Among fresh female buds shall you this night 
Inherit at my house. 

Again, in a subsequent scene in this play : 

Gaunt as a grave. 

Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. 

^* For lewd employments. 
The original signification of lewd was unlearned. It came afterwards to be 



used in the sense of idle or wicJced, and it appears here to be best interpreted by 
the latter word. Thus in Holinshed : The breaking of an oath, in a case that 
may prejudice, procureth greevous punishments from God against them that so 
lewdlie doo ofFend." 

That he did plot the diike of Gloster's death. 

"In isto parliamento, 1399, notum erat et compertum de morte Ducis 
Gloucestrise, quam dolose, et maliciose fuerat apud Calesiam, per Thomam 
Mowbray, Ducem Northfolcise, capitaneum ibidem, rege jubente suffocatus," Vit. 
Eicardi Secundi, a monacho de Evesham, p. 161. So, in Daniel's Civil 
Wars, — 

Long was it not ere Gloster was convey'd 
To Calais, and there strangled secretly. 

The note on this passage states that " Mowbray, Earl Marshall, after made Duke of 
Norfolk, had the charge of dispatching the Duke of Gloster at Calais." 

Suggest his soon-helieving adversaries. 

That is, prompt, set them on by injurious hints ; he raised the duke many 
enemies by his false inventions and base insinuations. Thus, in the Tempest : — • 
" They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk." — Steevens. 

Upon remainder of a dear account. 

By dear account, says Davies, I understand a demand of debt of a private 
nature, as stated in the text. It seems rather to mean simply, a considerable 
sum, one of the usual senses of dear being, costly. So Helena, in the Mid- 
summer Night's Dream, says of Demetrius, — if I have his thanks, "it is a dear 
expense," that is, it will cost him a great deal to make even so slight a return. In 
the Perkins MS., dear is altered to clear. 

Since last I went to France to fetch his queen. 

The Duke of Norfolk was joined in commission with Edward, Earl of Rutland, 
(the Aumerle of this play), to go to Erance in the year 1395, in the king's name, 
to demand in marriage (Isabel, the queen of our present drama,) the eldest 
daughter of Charles the Sixth, then between seven and eight years of age. The 
contract of marriage was confirmed by the Erencli King in March, 1396 ; and on 
November, 1396, Richard was married to his young consort in the chapel of St. 
Nicholas, in Calais, by the Archbishop of Canterbury. His first wife, Anne, 
daughter to the Emperor of Germany, Charles the Eourth, whom he had married 
in 1382, died at Shene, on Whitsunday, 1394. His marriage with Isabella, as is 
manifest from her age, was merely political ; and accordingly it was accompanied 
with an agreement for a truce between Erance and England, for thirty years. — 

Wrath-hindled gentlemen. 

" The last word is printed gentleman in all the quartos, excepting in ed. 1631^ ; 
the king addressing himself to Norfolk, who had just concluded his angry speecli. 
The folio reads gentlemen ; but Bolingbroke, merely as the accuser, was not so 
properly ' wrath-kindled,' and, moreover, had had time to cool," Collier. In the 
first place, whoever reads this scene with any attention will find that Bolingbroke 
is to the full as angry as Norfolk. Secondly, the fifth line of the present speech 
proves that the preceding part of it is addressed to both the " wrath-kindled 
gentlemen.''' Thirdly, the variations of the old eds. are here of no moment: in 
those manuscript early plays which I have had an opportunity of examining, tlie 


contraction gent, is often put for gentleman, gentlemen, gentlewoman, and gentle- 
women ; hence frequent mistakes in the printed copies. In the following passage 
of Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful Lady, act v. sc. 4, — 

I have cast beyond your wit : that gentleiooman 
Is vour retainer AVelford, 

(which, of course, is the right reading, Welford having been disguised as a 
gentlewoman), the first 4to has "gent.," and the later eds. (the abbreviation 
having been misunderstood) " gentleman." — Dyce. 

Our doctors sag this is no month to hleed. 

Eichard alludes to the almanacs of the time, where particular seasons were 
])ointed out as the most proper time for being bled. Thus the first quarto, 1597. 
Tlie folio has — " no lime. — " But the above mentioned allusion shows that the 
original is the true reading. — Malone. 

When, Harry, when ! 

When is an old expression, an exclamation not a question, significative of 
great impatience, common in early English plays. " When, parson, when ! what, 
can you find no more ?," Sir John Oldcastle. " Nay, then, sweet sir, give reason ; 
come on, when !," Marston's What You Will. A repetition of the following 
words, — " obedience bids" — is found in the old editions, and is probably incorrect, 
as would appear from the rhyme, unless we introduce it in the next line, and 
attribute it to the speaker's passion. 

Despite of death, that lives upon my grave. 

That is, " my name that lives on my grave, in despight of death." This easy 
passage most of the editors seem to have mistaken. The construction is, — " That 
lives, despite of death, upon my grave." — Johnson. 

And baffled here. 

Baffled, treated with indignity. Hence, generally, abused, reviled. " And 
furthermore the earle bade the herald to saie unto his maister the king ; that, if he 
for his part, kept not his appointment, then he was content that the Scots should 
baffull him, which is a great reproch among the Scots, and is used, when a man 
is openlie perjured, and then they make of him an image painted, reversed, with 
his heeles upward, with his name, woondering, crieng, and blowing out on him 
with homes, in the most despitefull manner they can, in token that he is worthie 
to be exiled the companie of all good creatures," Holinslied's Chronicle. " I 
summon you reasonablie to excuse that fault supposed to be yours, or else to 
mainteine that traitorous act with your person against mine in fight, when, where, 
or how you dare. Otherwise I will bafi'ull your good name, sound with the 
trumpet your dishonour, and paint your picture with the heels upward, and beare 
it in despite of yourselfe," Letter dated 1570. Spenser, in his Faerie Queene, 
alludes to the same signification of the word more than once. " Baffouer, to 
baSle, abuse, revile, disgrace, handle basely in tearmes," Cotgrave. 

Lions make leopards tame. 

There is a peculiar allusion here which has not been noticed. The Norfolk 
crest was a golden leopard. — Malone. 

Tea, hut not change their spots. 

The allusion is to Scripture, — " Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the 
leopard his spots ? " The old copies read, his spots, the change from the singular 



to plural, and vice versa, being admissible in Shakespeare's time; but, in the 
present edition, it has been considered justifiable to remove the grammatical 
inaccuracies arising from the improper use of the singulars or plurals, unless the 
rhyme or the circumstances of the dialogue rendered alteration unsafe. 

Or tcith pale heg gar-fear. 
This is the reading of one of the oldest quartos, 1597, and the folio. The 
quartos 1608 and 1615, read — beggar-/ace; that is, with a face of supplication. — 

^'^ Justice design the victor s chivalry. 

Design, to mark or point out, to indicate. Pope unjustifiably altered it to 
decide. To design, in our author's time, signified to mark out. See Minsheu's 
Diet, in V. : "To designe or shew by a token. Ital. Benotare, Lat. Besignare." 
At the end of the article the reader is referred to the words " to marlce, note, 
demonstrate, or shew."" The word is still used with this signification in Scotland. 
— Malone. 

The propriety of this expression here will be obvious, when we recollect that 
designator was " a marshal, a master of the play or prize, who appointed every one 
his place, and adjudged the victory." — Singer. 

The BuJce of Lancaster s Palace. 

The Savoy Palace, of which some remains existed within a few years, was 
situated near the Thames, almost close to the Strand end of Waterloo Bridge. 
This was anciently the seat of Peter Earl of Savoy, uncle to Eleanor, queen of 
Henry III. Upon his death it devolved to the queen, who gave it to her second 
son, Edmund, afterwards Earl of Lancaster. From that time the Savoy was taken 
as part and parcel of the earldom and honour of Lancaster, and was used as the 
London palace of the earls and dukes of that house. John of Gaunt married 
Blanch, the daughter of Henry, the first Buhe of Lancaster. Blanch was a co- 
heiress with her sister Matilda to the vast estates of this duchy ; and by the death 
of Matilda, without issue, he became subsequently possessed of all the property, in 
right of his wife, and was himself created Duke of Lancaster. — Knight. 

Alas ! the part I had in Glosters hlood. 

This refers to his near relationship to Gloster, to whom he was brother. In 
Woodstock's blood," eds. 1597, 1598, 1608, 1615; altered in later copies as in 
the text. Thomas, the youngest son of Edward the Third, born at Woodstock, 
and hence generally known as Thomas of Woodstock, until Richard the Second 
first created him Earl of Buckingham, and afterwards Duke of Gloucester. " In 
this ninth yeare, 1386, about the feast of S. Martine, Thomas of Woodstoke, Earl 
of Buckingham, was created Duke of Glocester," Holinshed, p. 448. 

Who when they see. 

The verb is here governed by hands. It is not unusual for the antecedent to 
occur in a previous sentence. There is no necessity for altering the text to, he 
sees, considering Heaven as the impersonation of the Deity. 

Edward's seven sons. 

The noble and victorious Prince, King Edward the third, had his fortunate 
gift of a long and prosperous raigne over this realme of England, much 
strengthened and adorned, by natures supply of seven goodly sonnes. Edward 
his eldest sonne. Prince of Wales, commonly called the Blacke Prince : William 
of Hatfield: Lyonel Duke of Clarence: John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster: 



Edmund of Lang-ley, Duke of Yorke : Thomas of Woodstocke, Duke of 
Gloucester : and William of Windsore. These sonnes, during the life of their 
renowned father, were such ornaments and such staves to his estate, as it seemed 
no greater could be annexed thereunto. Eor neither armies, nor strong holdes 
are so great defences to a prince, as the multitude of children. — TIapvard's Life 
and Haigne of Henrie the Fourth, 1599. 

Is hacFd down, and his summer leaves all faded. 

Faded, eds. 1597, 1598, 1608, 1615 ; vaded, eds. 1623, 1632, 1634, 1663, 
1685. These are merely different forms of the same word, both being derived 
from vado ; but in one instance, in the Civill Divell, a poem in Brathwait's 
Strappado for the Divell, 1615, p. 53, a distinction of some kind appears to be 
made, — " Thy form's divine, no fading, vading flower. " The expression hacked 
seems to warrant the transposition of the two previous lines, which are arranged 
differently in the original. 

All as a slope, and like the grasse, 

"Whose bewty soone doth vade. — MS. Ashmol. 802. 

The prince is bound by oath to graunt her pleasure. 

Yet from her will, he seekes her to disswade, 

Hoord not (quoth he) unto yourselfe sucli treasure, 

Nor let so sweet a flower ungathered vade. 

Ilei/ioood's Troia Britannica, 1609. 

O nothing, which dost all things mar, if made ; 
Why art thou nothing, yet dost thou not vade. 
Mich Cabinet fimiished with Varietie of Excellent Discriptions, 1616. 

Where then, alas ! may I complain myself? 

Complain is misprinted complaint in ed. 1623, the error being peculiar to that 
edition. To complain is commonly a verb neuter, but it is here used as a verb 
active. So, in a very scarce book entitled A Courtlie Controversie of Cupid's 
Cautels, translated from the Erench, by H. W. (Henry Wotton) Gentleman, 
4to, 1578 : " I coulde finde no companion, eyther to coraforte me, or helpe to 
complaine my great sorrowe." Again, p. 58 : " — wyth greate griefe he 
complained the calamitie of his countrey." Again, in the Queenes Majesties 
Entertainment in SuflPolke and Norfolke, by Thomas Churchyard : " — Cupid 
encountring the Queene, beganne to complayne hys state and his mothers," &c. 
Dryden also employs the word in the same sense in his Eables : 

Gaufride, who couldst so well in rhyme comp)lain 
The death of Eichard with an arrow slain. 

Complain myself (as Mr. M. Mason observes,) is a literal translation of the 
Erench phrase, me plaindre. See, also, the last scene of the third act. — Steevens. 

A caitiff recreant. 

Caitiff is a word that often occurs, and yet is not common nor so generally 
known and understood. It is from the Latin captivus ; and, as Dr. Johnson 
has observ'd, " originally signified a or prisoner ; next a slave, from the 

condition of prisoners ; then a scoundrel, or low-bred person, from the qualities 
of a slave." In some places in our author it seems to partake of all these 
significations. — Warner. 

At Flashy visit me. 

It was at " the Duke's house at Plashie in Essex," as described by Holinshed, 



where Richard called on the Dake of Gloucester previously to his arrest. The 
house is alluded to as a medieval mansion, with a large base-court. Malone 
says, " the lordship of Plashy was a town of the duchess of Gloucester's in Essex." 
But this is not quite accurate ; Plashey, now called Pleshey, is a village, seven 
miles from Chelmsford. It was the seat of the lord high constable of England, 
from the earliest times of that office to the close of tlie fourteenth century. 
On the site of his castle (to which the duchess was then going to retire) is now 
(179Jj) a brick farm-house, called the Lodge, and near it the remains of some 
ancient fortifications. — Anon. 

JJjifurnisJid walls. 

In our ancient castles the naked stone walls were only covered with tapestry, 
or arras, hung upon tenter hooks, from which it was easily taken down on every 
removal of the family. See the preface to the Household Book of the Fifth Earl 
of Northumberland, begun in 1512. — Steevens. 

Unpeopled offices. 

The offices of our old English mansions particularly denote the rooms designed 
or keeping the various stores of provisions, bread, wine, ale, &c., and for culinary 
purposes ; that is, the butler's pantry, cellars, and kitchen ; and they were always 
situated within the house, on the ground floDr (for there were no subterraneous 
rooms till about the middle of the reign of Charles the First), and nearly adjoining 
to each other. When dinner had been set on the board by the sewers, the proper 
officers attended in each of these offices. Sometimes, on occasions of great festivity, 
these offices were all thrown open, and unlimited licence given to all comers to eat 
and drink at their pleasure. Thus, in Othello, where notice is given by a trum- 
peter, that, on account of the destruction of the Turkish Fleet, and in honour of 
the General's nuptials, every man was to put himself into triumph : " All offices 
are opened, and there is full licence from the present hour of five, till the bell hath 
toll'd eleven !" The duchess of Gloster, therefore, laments, that in consequence 
of the murder of her husband, all the hospitality of plenty is at an end ; " the walls 
are unfurnished, the lodging rooms empty, the courts untrodden, and the offices 
unpeopled ; being now no longer filled by the proper officers, who attended daily 
to execute their several functions in her husband's life-time. All now (she adds,) 
is solitude and silence, and my groans are the only cheer that my guests can now 
expect." — Malone. 

And what cheer therefor welcome. 
The reading cheer is found only in ed. 1597, the word being wrongly altered to 
hear in ed. 1598, the compositor being probably misled by the last word of the 
line, groans, imagining that the speaker intended to say that nothing but groans 
were to be heard there. The error is repeated in all the subsequent editions. In 
one copy of ed. 1597, in the possession of the Duke of Devonshire, the reading is 
hear, which may perhaps show that that copy was an early uncorrected one, from 
a duplicate of which the next edition of 1598 may possibly have been printed. 
The word is cheere in the Capell copy, and also in another in the possession of 
Mr. Daniel. 

Lists set out, and a throne. 
After this time, he made a great and marvellous strong theatre at Coventrie 
for the combate betwixte the Duke of Hereford, and the Duke of Norffolke, and 
gave them day for the fight, the sixteenth of September, to weete, the feast day 
of Saint Edith, at which day and place a great concourse and assemble of people 
was there gathered out of all partes of Englande. When the sayde champions 



appeared in the listes, readie to figlite, the king commanded them to be quiet and 
not to fight, and then the kyng sitting in hys royall apparell within his tente girt 
with his sworde, hee commanded hys decree to bee proclayraed, and thys was the 
king's decree, that Henry Duke of Hereforde, for hys disobedience towardes the 
king, shoukle bee banislied for tenne yeares, and Hkewise the Duke of Norffolke to 
be banislied for ever out of England, taking of his revenues a thousand markes by 
yeare, till the towne of Caleis were repaired. — Stowe. 

*° Enter the Buhe of Surrey as Lord Marshal. 

Thomas Holland, Duke of Surrey, is again introduced in the fourth act. In 
the present scene he is, in the old editions, marked only as " the Lord Marshal," 
but that office was, on this occasion, executed by the Duke of Surrey, Mowbray, 
who was Earl Marshal, being one of the combatants, and therefore incapable of 
officiating in that capacity. After Mowbray's banishment, Holland was consti- 
tuted Marshal of England, and about the same time appointed Lieutenant of 
Ireland. Mowbray was created Earl Marshal or Lord Marshal, either title being 
given to the Marshal of England, for life in 1383, with remainder to him and his 
heirs male in 139G, so that he was nominally Lord Marshal after his banishment, 
when the Duke of Surrey was the person actually in possession of the office. 
There were, in fact, two Lord Marshals living at the same time, a circumstance 
which explains some allusions that seem at first sight to be erroneous. 

*^ My lord Aumerle. 

Edward Plantagenet was created Duke of Aumerle by King Eichard, his 
cousin -germ an, 29 September, 1397. He was the eldest son of Edward of 
Langley Duke of York, fifth son of King Edward the Third, and was killed in 
1415, at the battle of Agincourt. He officiated at the lists of Coventry, as High 
Constable of England. Aumerle, or Aumale, is the Erench for what we now call 
Albemarle, which is a town in Normandy. The old historians generally use the 
Erench title. — Steevens. 

Tea, at all points. 

This phrase was specially applied to a person completely armed, in full armour. 
"Arm'd at all points, prepar'd to march he stands," Rochester's Valentinian. 
" Base that he was, to affront a person of your honour, one that wears a sword, 
and knows what's what. Did he refuse me, to meet me in the said field provided 
at all points, I'd post him coward, and hire slaves to kick him," Play of the 
Counterfeits, 1679. The expression was sometimes, but not often, used in other 
ways. " He is a lover at all points," Overbury's Characters, 1615. 

Then armde at all points to withstand the foe. 
With holy armour : here's the martiall sword. 

Oreene^s Never too Late, 1590. 

^ As so defend thee heaven and thy valour ! 

That is, as you hope that heaven and your valour may defend you. Thus the 
original quarto, 1597, and the other ancient copies. Eowe and the subsequent 
editors read — And so, &c. — Malone. 

My name is Thomas Mowlray. 
It appears from Holinshed, that the Duke of Hereford, appellant, entered the 
lists first ; and this, indeed, must have been the regular method of the combat ; 
for the natural order of things requires that the accuser or challenger should be at 
the place of appointment first. — Steevens. 



And my succeeding issue. 

My, eds. 1597, 1598, 1608, 1615; Us, eds. 1623, 1632, 1634, 1663, 1685. 
There appears no reason for Norfolk to defend himself in the sight of the king's 
succeeding issue, and the reading here adopted is explained bj the circumstance 
that his children would be in danger of an attainder. 

Ash yonder hiight in arms. 

Towards the latter part of the thirteeenth century, it became the practice to 
apply plates of metal to some parts of the hauhert, or tunic of mail, chiefly to the 
knees and elbows. The cuirasse, the casque with 
the visor entirely closed, and some other plates 
were added at the beginning of the fourteenth 
century, but it was not till the middle of the first 
half of this century, that plate armour began to 
be generally adopted. Ornamentation appears as 
yet to have been hardly thought of, and all the 
plate armour of the fourteenth century known, as 
well as the casques, is quite plain. We have no 
traces of the complete suit of plate armour till the 
close of the fifteenth century, and then the surface 
begins to be ornamented, but in a very simple 
manner. The accompanying cut, taken from an 
impression of a seal preserved in the national 
archives of Prance, is a very good representation 
of a French knight in plate armour of the 
beginning of the fifteenth century. It is attached 
to a deed of Jean lord of Eigne, which is dated in 
the year 1406. Among the more remarkable characteristics of his dress are the 
small bells hung round his girdle. We observe similar bells hung to the baldric 
of a knight in an illuminated manuscript of the Eoyal Library in the British 
Museum (MS. Heg. 15, D. iii), belonging also to the earlier part of the fifteenth 
century. The jingle of these small bells seems to have been considered at that 
period as a pleasant noise, and very becoming in the persons of individuals of rank 
or fasliion. — Thomas Wright. 

Both who he is, and why he cometh hither. 
Selden describes the manner of proceeding in combats of this kind ; " The 
appellant and procurator first enter the gate on the right end of the lists, bounded 
with his esquires, cloath'd in his colours, and array'd with his arms, waiting on 
him. The constable and marshal demand by a herald what he is, and how he 
comes so array'd?" See likewise Segar, lib. 3, cap. 17. — Grey. 

As to touch the lists. 

" A herald, by commandment of the constable and marshal, did make procla- 
mation at four corners of the lists, thus, Oiez, oiez : We charge and command, in 
the name of the king, the constable and marshal, that no man, of what, estate, 
title, or degree soever, shall approach the lists nearer than four foot in distance, nor 
shall utter any word, speech, voice, or countenance, whereof either the challenger, 
or defender, may take advantage, upon pain of loss of life, living, or goods, to be 
taken at the king's good pleasure," Segar of Honour military and civil, lib. 3, 
cap. 17. Where the fight was for life or death — " None of the people might cry, 
scryce out, make any noise, or give any signe whatsoever. And hereunto at Halle 
in Swevia, was so great regard taken, that the executioner stood besyde the judges. 



ready with an ax to cut off the right Imnd, and left foot of the party offending." 
See Verstegan's Restitution of Decay'd Intelligence, p. 64i. — Grey. 

*^ Mowhrays waxen coat. 

Waxen seems here to be metaphorically used for penetrable or flexible. The 
ancient brigandines, or coats of mail, were composed of small pieces of steel 
quilted over one another, and yet so flexible as to accommodate the dress they form 
to every motion of the body. Several of these are preserved at the armoury at 
Gooderich Court. Henley observes, the object of Bolingbroke's request is that 
the temper of his lance's point might as much exceed the mail of his adversary, 
as the iron of that mail was harder than wax, an explanation which appears to be 
an unnecessary refinement on the simple and obvious meaning of the passage. 
Bishop Hall M^Qsicaxy in the sense yielding, — "he is servile in imitation, icaxy 
to persuasion." 

By using these words, Bolingbroke means to express a high and confident 
opinion of the goodness of his cause, of his own strength and courage, and of the 
weakness and cowardice of his adversary. As if he had said, "So little do I fear 
the power of my antagonist, that his coat of mail will, to my lance, be as penetra- 
ble as if it were composed of wax." The knights who went forth to battle were 
certainly not better secured and guarded in their armour than those who fought 
for life and honour in a single combat. — Dames. 

And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt. 

All the quartos, including that of 1634, hoye furbish, all the folios reading 
furnish. Either word will do, as io furnish in the time of Shakespeare signified to 
dress. So, twice in As You Like It : ''furnished like a huntsman." — ''—furnished 
like a beggar." — Steevens. 

Mine innocence, and Saint George to thrive! 

So all the old copies, the word innocence being unnecessarily altered to 
innocency by several modern editors. A similar phrase referring to St. George is 
common in early English. " B. Eoyster. Now forth in ray, sirs, and stoppe 
no more. — J/. Mery. Now, sainct George to borow ! Drum, dubbe a dubbe 
afore." — Ralph Boyster Boyster. 

" As gentle and as jocund, as to jest. 

The commentators forget that to jest sometimes signifies in old language to 
play a part in a mask. Thus, in Hieronymo : — 

He promised us in honour of our guest, 

To grace our banquet with some pompous Jest. 

And accordingly a mask is performed. — Farmer. 

My rival Marian, he that cross'd our love. 
Hath cross'd me in this Jest, and at the court 
Employs the players should have made us sport. . 

Downfall of B. Earl of Huntington, 1601. 

The Tiing hath throion his warder down. 

A warder was a kind of truncheon or staff carried by persons who presided at 
these single combats ; the throwing down of which seems to have been a solemn 
act of prohibition to stay proceedings. A different movement of the warder had 
an opposite effect. In Drayton's Battle of Agincourt, Erpingham is represented 
throwing it up as a signal for a charge. So, in Daniel's Civil Wars, 1595, in 
reference to this transaction, book i. st. 63 : — 



"When, lo ! the king chang'd suddenly his mind, 

Casts down his warder, and so stays them there. — Singer. 

^* Of cruel wounds plotigJid up with neighbours^ swords. 

^'0{ crtiell wounds plowd up with neighbours sword'' ed. 1597, in two copies, 
but, in a third, civil occurs in the place of crtiel. As either reading makes perfect 
sense, and the later editions are all of inferior authority, the only reason for 
adopting the latter lection is that it avoids a pleonasm, wounds made with neigh- 
bours' swords being necessarily civil wounds. The compositor of ed. 1597 had 
no doubt altered the word after some copies had been struck off, but it is of course 
impossible to ascertain which reading was first inserted. All the editions, after 
that of 1597, read civil. 

To wahe our peace, which in our country's cradle. 

This and the next line are restored by Pope from the first quarto ; but 
Warburton is for rejecting them as having been omitted by Shakespeare himself 
on revising the play, and, in his opinion, "with great judgment ; for as pretty as 
the image is in these two lines, yet they are absurd in the sense. Feace avale is, 
it seems, still peace, as well as when asleep ; only peace asleep gives one the 
notion of a happy people sunk in sloth and luxury, from which state the sooner it 
was awaked the better." But Shakespeare's imagination was much superior to 
such strained refinement as this, which undoubtedly never once entered into his 
thoughts. He is speaking of the peace of Richard's reign, which was happy in 
the enjoyment of the most profound tranquillity, imaged under the metaphor of 
sleep ; till it was disturbed and awakened out of it by the civil jarrs and broils of 
these two great noblemen. — Theolald. 

It is true, that " peace awake is still peace, as well as when asleep but peace 
awakened by the tumults of these jarring nobles, and peace indulging in profound 
tranquillity, convey images sufiiciently opposed to each other for the poet's 
purpose. " To wake peace," is to introduce discord. " Peace asleep," is peace 
exerting its natural influence, from which it would be frighted by the clamours of 
war. — Steevens. 

The completion of the passage is somewhat involved, the king suggesting that 
Peace, roused up from its present calm sleep by martial sounds, might frighten 
itself, fair Peace, from our country. The speech is best understood by remem- 
bering that peace disturbed is no longer peace. 

You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life. 

That is, of the loss of life ; as we should still say, — " your life shall be the 
penalty." Thus all the quarto editions, and afterwards, when the king addresses 
Norfolk, the folio 1623, with some inconsistency, has " upon pain of death'" in 
one place, and " upon pain of life'" in another. Malone followed the folio, but 
does not seem to have been aware that it was opposed to the quartos, which in 
both instances have " upon pain of Ifey It is obvious that it ought to be " upon 
pain of life," or " upon pain of death," in both sentences. — Collier. 

" The sly- slow hours. 

That is, the sly and slow hours, the slow hours that deceitfully run on, the 
" creeping hours of time," as they are called in As You Like It, including the 
" thievish minutes" as " they pass," All's "Well that Ends Well. " And those slie 
hours that still surprise at length," Homer's Odyssey translated by Chapman. Some 
copies of ed. 1632 read fye slow, a reading adopted by Pope, the compositor using 
/ instead of the long s ; but this lection involves the incongruity of a junction 



between slowness and flight, which cannot be supported even by a passage in 
another drama, — "run swift, slow hourcs," Hoffman, 1G31. It is worthy of 
remark that Pope has used the compound epithet in his Essay on Man, — " All sly 
slow things, with circumspective eyes." Tate, in his alteration, 1G81, alters 
the line in the text as follows, — " the slow succeeding hours sliall not deter- 

The dateless limit of thy dear exile. 

The manner in which Shakespeare uses the word dear often presents a difficulty 
to the modern reader. Twenty-five lines before this we have the " dear blood" 
of the kingdom — the valued blood. We have now the " dear exile" of Norfolk — 
the harmful exile. The apparent contradiction is immediately reconciled by 
looking at the etymology of the word. To dere, the old English verb, from the 
Anglo-Saxon der-ian, is to hurt, — to do mischief; and thence dearth, meaning, 
which hurteth, dereth, or maketh dear. In the expression dear exile we have the 
primitive meaning of to dere. But in the other expression, dear Mood, we have 
the secondary meaning. One of the most painful consequences of mischief on a 
large scale, such as the mischief of a bad season, was dearth — the barrenness, the 
scarcity, produced by the hurtful agent. What was spared was thence called dear 
— precious — costly — greatly coveted — highly prized. — Knight. 

" Mowbray, duke of Norfolk is said to have been banished the very day (by the 
course of the year) whereon he murdered the Duke of Glocester," Note to Daniel's 
Civil Wars, B. 1. s. 64. 

The hopeless word of — never to return. 

Word for sentence ; any short phrase was called a icord. Thus Ascham, in a 
Letter to Queen Elizabeth, " Savinge that one unpleasaunte word in that patent, 
called, Buringe pleasure, turned me after to great displeasure." — Singer. 

A dearer merit hate I deserved. 

Johnson, in his note on this passage, says, to deserve a merit is a phrase of which 
he knows not any example : yet one of the senses which he attributes in his dic- 
tionary, to the word merit, is a reward deserved, and he supports it by a quotation 
from Prior. As Shakespeare uses merit in this place in the sense of reward, 
he frequently uses the word meed, which properly signifies reward, to express merit. 
— Mason. 

Bouhhj portcullis d with my teeth and lips. 

Cartwright, in his tragi-comedy intitled, the Siedge, Act 2. sc. 5. p. 123, 
seems to have borrowed this thought from Shakespeare. — " Prusias. Lips decent, 
and most fit — Phil. To sweep a manger. — Calli. Which she does open like a 
pair of gates, — Phil. And then claps down her lips like a portcullis." — Grey. 

It hoots thee not to he compassionate. 
Is not this a very odd use of the term, for to compassionate, lament, thyself ? 
Should we not rather read, — " It boots thee not to become passionate ?" Com- 
passionate is apparently here used in the sense of complaining, plaintive ; but no 
other instance of the word in this sense has occurred to the commentators. May 
it not be an error of the press, for so passionate, which would give the required 
meaning to the passage ; passionate being frequently used for to express passion or 
grief, to complain. ' Now leave we this amorous hermit to passionate and playne 
his misfortune.' — Palace of Pleasure, vol. ii. LI. 5. "And cannot passionate our 
tenfold griefs," Tit. Andron. Act iii. Sc. 2. — Singer. 



Our fart therein we banish with yourselves. 

It is a question much debated amongst the writers of the law of nations, 
whether a banished man may be still tied in his allegiance to the state which sent 
him into exile. Tully and lord chancellor Clarendon declare for the af&rmative : 
Hobbes and PufFendorf hold the negative. Our author, by this line, seems to be 
of the same opinion. — Warhurton. 

^* Nor never looh upon each other'' s face. 

After great deliberation, the king by the mouth of the king of heraults 
pronounced sentence in this sort, first that Henry of Lancaster Duke of HerfPord 
appellant, and Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norffolke defendant, have honorably 
and valiantly appered here within the listes this day, and have bene redy to 
darreyne the battaile, lyke two valiant knightes, and hardie champions ; but 
because the matter is great and weightie betweene these two great princes, this is 
the order of the king and his counsaile, — 
that Henry Duke of Herfford for dyverse 
considerations, and because it hath pleased the 
king, shall within xv. dayes depart out of the 
realrae, for the terme of ten yeres, without 
returnyng, except by the king he be repealed 
againe, and that upon paine of death. The 
herault cryed againe and sayde, that Thomas 
Mowbray, Duke of Northfolke, by the orde- 
naunce of the king and his Counsaile, 
because that he had sowen sedicion in the 
realme by his wordes, whereof he can make no 
proofe, shall advoyde the realme of England, 
and dwell where he lust out of the kinges 
dominions, and never to returne againe into 
the same upon paine of death, and that the 
king woulde stay the profites and revenewes 
of hys landes untill he had receyved such 
sommes of money as the duke had taken up 
of the kinges treasurer, for the wages of the 
garrison of Calice, which were still unpayd. 
And then they called before him the two 
banished persons, and made them swere that 
the one should never come into the place 
where the other was (willyngly) nor kepe 
companie together in any other forein region. 
— Grafton s Chronicle. The annexed en- 
graving represents one of the principal heralds. 

Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy. 

So fare, eds. 1597, and the others published before that of 1632, in which 
fare is altered to fatre, — " so far I speak or have spoken as to mine enemy ; I 
now proceed to address you without malevolent feehngs ;" or, perhaps, " so far as 
I may address my enemy." Bolingbroke, as Ritson observes, only uses the 
phrase by way of caution, lest Mowbray should think he was about to address him 
as a friend, or wish to conciliate him. If the reading fare be adopted, the sense 
will be, — may you meet with all the good in your banishment, that I can wish to 
The line is altogether omitted in Tate's alteration, 1681. 

my enemy. 





The meaning of this address, from one implacable foe to another, seems to be 
this, — " Norfolk, the business of the duel is over : however, though I profess 
myself your enemy, let me now calmly intreat you, as a man and Christian, to 
disburthen your conscience and confess joiw treason." The expression is simply 
no more than, " So far as one enemy may speak to another." — Davies. 

Save hack to England, all the world's my way. 

Some editors place a comma after stray, and a semicolon after England, but 
the punctuation here adopted conveys the sense certainly intended by the author, 
— I cannot stray wherever I go, for, except the one way of back to England, all 
paths in the world are open to me. The explanation of the other reading is thus 
given, — Now every course to which I can address my feet is my right path, except 
that which leads me back to England ; with this exception, the whole world is open 
before me. " The world was all before them, where to choose their place of 
rest." — Milton. 

0, had it been a stranger, not my child. 

This, and the three following lines, are omitted in the folio editions, and in ed. 
1634. The third and fourth lines thus omitted are arbitrarily placed by some 
editors at the conclusion of Gaunt's speech. 

A partial slander sought I to avoid. 

That is, the reproach of partiality. This is a just picture of the struggle 
between principle and affection. — Johnson. 

But that I was a journeyman to grief. 

A quibbling allusion, following the notion of apprenticeship and freedom, 
seems to be here intended, journey signifying both travel and a day's work, 
Biid. journeyman either a traveller or a workman. The whole of this speech and 
all the next one are omitted in the folio editions, but are found in the four early 
quartos. They are also omitted in ed. 1634, an edition printed from the 
second folio. 

All places that the eye of heaven visits. 

Davies observes that these lines are evidently borrowed from Ovid : — " Omne 
viro forti solum patria ;" which is likewise imitated by Ben Jonson in the Eox, — 
" Sir, to a wise man all the world's his soil." The magnanimous words of Sir 
Humphrey Gilbert when his ship was sinking are extremely remarkable. That 
gallant officer was seen sitting in the stern of the ship with a book in his hand, and 
was often heard to say with a loud voice, " Courage, my lads ! we are as near 
heaven at sea as at land." The expression, " the eye of heaven," is very common 
with our old writers ; our author uses it again, — " The eye of heaven is out." 
" Titan, with burning eye," Venus and Adonis. " Her angel face, as the great 
eye of heaven shyned bright," Spenser's Eaerie Queene. Sir John Davies — 
" Heaven's great rolling eye — with burning dances and with melody," Orchestra, 
s. 85. Burton — "Banishment is no grievance at all, omne solum forti patria, &c. 
et patria ubicunque bene est, that's a man's country where he is well at ease," 
Anat. of Melan. Part 2, Sec. 3, Mem. 4. Damon and Pythias, 1582, — "Omne 
solum forti patria, a wyse man may lyve every where." M alecontent, — "He is 
ever at home that is ever wise." Similar to this is the beginning of the 5th act 
of Pastor Eido. 

All places are our country, where we're well. 
Which to the wise, is wheresoe'er they dwell. 


Shakespeare, when he wrote the passage before us, probably remembered that 
part of Lyly's Euphues, 1580, in which Euphues exhorts Botanio to take his exile 
patiently. Among other arguments, he observes that "Nature hath given to 
man a country no more than she hath a house, or lands, or livings. Socrates 
would neither call himself an Athenian, neither a Grecian, but a citizen of the 
world. Plato would never account him banished, that had the sunne, ayre, water, 
and earth, that he had before ; where he felt the winter's blast and the summer's 
blaze ; where the same sunne and the same moone shined ; whereby he noted that 
every place was a country to a wise man, and all parts a palace to a quiet 
mind." — Malone. 

But thou the Mng. 

"When it was cast in Diogenes' teeth, that the Sinoponetes had banished him 
Pontus, yea, said he, I them of Diogenes," Lilly's Euphues, 1580. Shakespeare 
places a simdar sentiment in the mouth of Coriolanus. 

0, who can hold a fire in, his hand. 

It has been remarked there is a passage resembling this in Tully's Fifth Book 
of Tusculan Questions. Speaking of Epicurus, he says : — " Sed una se dicit 
recordatione acquiescere prseteritarum voluptatum : ut si quis sestuans, cum vim 
caloris non facile patiatur, recordari velit se aliquando in Arpinati nostro gelidis 
fluminibus curcurafusum fuisse. Non enim video, quoraodo sedare possint mala 
prsesentia prseteritse voluptates." The Tusculan Questions of Cicero had been 
translated early enough (1561) for Shakespeare to have seen them. — Steevens. 

Shakespeare, however, I believe, was thinking on the words of Lyly, which 
are found in the page preceding that from which an extract has been already 
made : " I speake this to this end, that though thy exile seem grievous to thee, 
yet guiding thy selfe with the rules of philosophic, it shall be more tolerable : he 
that is colde doth not cover himselfe with care but with clothes ; he that is washed 
in the rayne, drieth himselfe by the fire^ not by his fancie ; and thou which art 
banished," &c. — Malone. 

"^^ Yet a true-born Englishman. 

Here the first Act ought to end, that between the first and second Acts there 
may be time for John of Gaunt to accompany his son, return, and fall sick. Then 
the first scene of the second Act begins with a natural conversation, interrupted 
by a message from John of Gaunt, by which the King is called to visit him, which 
visit is paid in the following scene. As the play is now divided, more time passes 
between the two last scenes of the first Act, than between the first Act and the 
second. — Johnson. 

The actors of the early part of the eighteenth century used to conclude the 
first act with these words, omitting entirely the following scene. This, at least, is 
the arrangement in a prompt-book of the play, dated 1727, now before me. 


According to Holinshed, " the Duke of Hereford took his leave of the king at 
Eltham, who there released foure yeares of his banishment ; so he tooke his jornie 
over into Calls, and from thence went into Prance, where he remained." The 
present scene opens soon after Hereford had parted with the king, who asks 
Aumerle how far he had accompanied the banished nobleman. This attribution 
of the scene also agrees with the expressions used in reference to the last illness of 
Gaunt, who appears to be lying ill at some distance from where the king was then 
keeping his court. 



''^ TFe did observe. 

The King here addresses Green and Bagot, who we may suppose had been 
talking to hira of Bolingbroke's " courtship to the common people," at the time 
of his departure. " Yes," says Richard, " we did observe it." — Malone. 

Soon after the decision at Coventry, the dukes of Hereford and Norfolk went 
into banishment. Upon reading over the passports of both these noblemen, in 
Rymer, we see a strong partiality of the king in those granted to Norfolk, and 
especially in that public act which is called, De reqiiestu regis ex parte ducis 
Norfolcice. Richard could not do less for the man who seems to have incurred 
his banishment principally for obeying his illegal orders, and one too whom he 
had robbed of the greatest part of his estate. Norfolk died, some few years after 
his banishment, at Venice, universally hated. — Davies. 

'^^ Faith^ none for me. 

That is, none on my part. Thus, we say, " For me, I am content ;" where 
those words have the same signification as here. Thus the authentic copies, the 
quarto 1597, and the folio 1623. The reviser of the second folio, 1632, who 
altered whatever he did not understand, substituted — hy me, instead of the words 
in the text, and has been followed by all the subsequent editors. — Ifalone. 

Oiirself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green. 

The edition of 1597 omits the last four words of this line, and the same 
omission occurs in eds. 1598, 1608, and 1615. The folio reads : — " Ourself, and 
Bushy here, Bagot, and Greene." Which was perhaps what the author wrote, 
intending to point differently, by placing a comma after here ; for it appears from 
the scenical direction of the quarto, 1597, that Bushy was now on the stage: 
" Enter the King, with Bushie," &c. But in the folio the direction is, " Enter the 
King, Aumerle, Greene, and Bagot," because it was observed that Bushy comes 
in afterwards with news, as the old quarto terms it. On this account we cannot 
read Bushy here, and are obliged to adopt a transposition made in the quarto 
1634 : — " Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green." — Malone. 

A little before the feast of Saint Michael, the Parliament began at London, 
wherein Sir John Bushie, Sir William Bagot, and Sir Henrie Greene, were 
principall agents for the Kings purpose. These were then in all the credites and 
authoritie with the King, and his chiefest schoole-m asters both of crueltie and 
deceite; they were proud, arrogant, and ambitious, and upon confidence of the 
Kings favour, professed enemies to men of ancient nobilitie ; to the ende, that 
being lately start up, they might become more famous by maintaining contention 
with great persons. And first, by their importuned travaile, all the charters of 
pardon, graunted by the King, were in this Parliament annulled and revoked. — 
Hay-ward's Life of Henrie the Fourth, 1599. 

^ff 9^^^ bonnet to an oyster-wench. 
The Duke of Hereford tooke his leave of the King at Eltham, who there stroke 
away foure yeers of his banishment, and even offred himselfe to be fawned upon 
and thanked, for so odious a benefit. And this infortunate adventure he neither 
bare out vaingloriously, nor yet tooke impatiently ; but in the midst of his misery, 
retained still his reputation and honour ; shewing no signe of sorrow or submisnes 
in his countenance, nor letting fall any intemperate and unseemely word. The 
people, as he departed, by heaps flocked about him, some to see, and some to 
salute him ; lamenting his departure in such sort, as though their onely hght and 
delight did then forsake them : not sparing to exclaime, that it was against the 
law of armes, against the custome of the realme, and against all right whatsoever. 



that he should be exiled, who had done his honourable endeavour for the main- 
tenance of his appeale. This affection was the more excessive, for that the duke 
was driven into exile by occasion of his liberall speeches against the most hatefull 
persons in all the realme ; and being the only noble man then alive, of the 
popular faction, the love was wholly accumulated upon him, which was before 
devided among the rest. The Duke for his part was not neghgent to uncover the 
head, to bowe the body, to stretch forth the hand to every meane person, and to 
use all other complements of popular behaviour : wherewith the mindes of the 
common multitude are much delighted and drawen ; taking that to bee courtesie, 
which the severer sort accompt abasement. — Hayward's Life of Henrie the 
Fourth, 1599. 

''^ And had the tribute of his supple knee. 

" To illustrate this phrase, it should be remembered that courtseying (the act 
of reverence now confined to women) was anciently practised by men," Steevens. 
Though bowing and courtseying are now equally out of fashion, it may yet be full 
as easily remembered that the bow taught by the dancing-master was always ac- 
companied by a motion of the foot, which could not be performed without some 
degree of genuflexion. — Pye. " At the coming into the quier, my lord made lowe 
curtesie to the French king's armes," Black Book of Warwick. 

^° Expedient manage. 

That is, expeditious conduct, or arrangements. Shakespeare often uses eospe- 
dient for expeditious ; but here its ordinary signification of fit, proper, will suit the 
context equally well. — Singer. 

Preparations had been making for some time : they were going on during the 
whole of Lent. There is an article in Bymer, dated March 2, 1399, " De equis 
pro curribus regiis providendis." The measures that were taken, or rather the 
manner in which they were enforced, tended to increase the unpopularity of the 
king. The grievances of purveyance heavily felt and remedied under Edward III. 
appear to have been revived in all their intolerable rigour. The clergy complained 
of having been compelled to furnish horses, and waggons, and sums of money, and 
the people in general were sorely afflicted by extortion ; nothing that was taken 
for the king's use was paid for, — " Equos et quadrigas exigens, et aha necessaria 
profectione sua rapiens, nihilque resolvens." The naval part of the armament was 
upon a large scale. An order had been issued, Eeb. 7, for all vessels of twenty- 
five tons and upwards from the ports of Colchester, Orwell, and all ports and places 
on the sea coast northward as far as Newcastle upon Tyne, to assemble at Milford 
or Bristol, by the octaves of Easter, ready for shipment, and appointed with 
sufiicient masters and mariners for the voyage of Ireland. Pressing was also 
resorted to upon the occasion. John Elys, master of a certain barge, called " the 
Nicholas de le Tour," is to arrest twenty-five able mariners wherever they may 
be found, " tam infra libertates quam extra," to serve in the said barge. — 

Blanh charters. 

Eerthirmore the king and his counsel ordeyned blanc chartris, and made 
lordis spirituel and temporel and othir worthi men sette to thaym thair sells ; and 
therto thay were most constreyned be the Bisshoppis, as it was said. — The Brute 

Yet to content a parte of the kynges mynde, many blanke chartours were 
devysyd and brought into the cytie, whiche many of the moost substancyall men 
of the same were fayne to scale to theyr payne and charge in conclusyon, the 



whiche sliortlye after was used thoroughe all countreys of Englonde. — Fahyaris 

Enter Bushy, in haste. 

The old stage-direction is, " Enter Bushie with newes." The words " Bushy, 
what news ?" are not found in the four early quarto editions, and are only 
explained on the supposition that he enters in breathless haste, leading the king 
to suppose that something of importance had occurred. 

Sir John Bushy, a knight of the Bath, and Speaker of the House of Commons 
in 1397, is mentioned by Holinshed as, " a knight of Lincolneshire, accompted 
to be an exceeding cruell man, ambitious and covetous beyond measure," p. 490. 
He was the secretary of the combat, according to the same authority. 

TFhere lies he? . . At Ely -house. 

Seymour thinks we might read, — " Where does he lie ? . . At Ely-house, my 
liege ;" which is merely cited for the purpose of giving an example of the un- 
justifiable licence of conjecture, when employed to amend a fancied defect in 
the measure. 

- « 

SCENE I. — London. A Room in Ely-house. 

Gaunt on a couch ; the Duke of York^ and others standing by 


Gaunt. Will the king come, that I may breathe my last 
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth ? 

York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath ; 
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. 

Gaunt. O, but they say the tongues of dying men 
Enforce attention like deep harmony : 
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain ; 
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. 
He that no more must say is listen'd more 

Than they who youth and ease have taught to glose ; 
More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before ; 

The setting sun, and music at the close, 
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,^ 
Writ in remembrance more than things long past : 
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear. 
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. 

Yorh. No ; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, 
As, praises of his state ; then, there are found^ 
Lascivious metres,* to whose venom-sound 



[act il sc. I. 

The open ear of youth doth always Hsten ; 

Report of fashions in proud Italy/ 

Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation 

Limps after, in hase imitation. 

Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity 

(So it be new, there's no respect how vile). 

That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears ? 

Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, 

Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 

Direct not him, whose way himself will choose : 

'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. 

Gaunt. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir'd. 
And thus, expiring, do foretell of him : 
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, 
For violent fires soon burn out themselves ; 
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short ; 
He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes ; 
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder : 
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, 
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. 
This royal throne of kings, this scepter 'd isle, 
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
This other Eden, demi-paradise ; 
This fortress built by Nature for herself 
Against infection*' and the hand of war ; 
This happy breed of men, this little world ; 
This precious stone set in the silver sea. 
Which serves it in the office of a wall. 
Or as a moat defensive to a house. 
Against the envy of less happier lands ;^ 
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, 
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth,' 
Renowned for their deeds as far from home, — 
For Christian service and true chivalry — 
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry 
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son ; — 
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land. 
Dear for her reputation through the world. 
Is now leas'd out, I die pronouncing it, 
Like to a tenement or pelting farm \ 
England, bound in with the triumphant sea, 

ACT II. SC. I.] 


Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, 
With inky blots,^° and rotten parchment bonds : 
That England, that was wont to conquer others, 
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. 
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life. 
How happy then were my ensuing death ! 

Enter King Richard and Queen, Aumerle, Bushy, Gree 
Bagot, Ross," and Willoughby.^^ 

York. The king is come : deal mildly with his youth ; 
For young hot colts being rag'd do rage the more.^^ 

Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? 

K. Rich. What comfort, man ? how is't with aged Gaunt ? 

Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition ! 
Old Gaunt, indeed ; and gaunt in being old : 
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast ; 
And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt? 
For sleeping England long time have I watch'd ; 
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt : 
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, 
Is my strict fast, — I mean, my children's looks ; 
And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt : 
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave. 
Whose hollow womb inherits naught but bones. 

K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their names ? 

Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself : 
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. 

K. Rich. Should dying men flatter those that live ?^^ 

Gaunt. No, no, men living flatter those that die. 

K. Rich. Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatter' st me. 

Gaunt. O, no ! thou diest, though I the sicker be. 

K. Rich. I am in health ; I breathe, and see thee ill. 

Gaunt. Now, He that made me knows I see thee ill ; 
111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. 
Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land 
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick ; 
And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
Committ'st thy anointed body to the cure 
Of those physicians that first wounded thee : 



[act II. sc. I. 

A tliousand flatterers sit within thy crown, 
Whose compass is no higger than thy head ; 
And yet, incaged in so small a verge, 
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye. 
Seen how his son's son shoidd destroy his sons. 
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, 
Deposing thee hefore thou wert possess'd. 
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.^^ 
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world. 
It were a shame to let this land hy lease ; 
But for thy world enjoying but this land. 
Is it not more than shame to shame it so ? 
Landlord of England art thou now, not king -.^'^ 
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law \ ^ 

K. Bich. And thou a lunatic lean-witted fool,^* 
Presuming on an ague's privilege, 
Dar'st with thy frozen admonition 
Make pale our cheek,^" chasing the royal blood 
With fury from his native residence. 
Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, 
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, 
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head 
Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. 

Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son. 
For that I was his father Edward's son ; — 
That blood already, like the pelican, "° 
Hast thou tapp'd out,^^ and drunkenly carous'd ; 
IVIy brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, 
(Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls !) 
^lay be a precedent and witness good 
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood : 
Join with the present sickness that I have ; 
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,"^ 
To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. 
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee ! — 
These words hereafter thy tormentors be ! — 
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave : 
Love they to live that love and honour have. 

[_Exit, home out hy his Attendants. 



K. Rich. And let them die that age and sullens have \ ^ 
For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 

Yorh. I do beseech your majesty, impute his words 
To wayward sickhness and age in him : 
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 
As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. 

K. Rich. Right, you say true : as Hereford's love, so his ; 
As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. 

Enter Northumberland.^* 

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. 
K. Rich. What says he ? 

North. Nay, nothing ; all is said : 

His tongue is now a stringless instrument ; 
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 

Yorh. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so ! 
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. 

K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he ; 
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be : 
So much for that. — Now for our Irish wars : 
We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, 
Which live like venom, where no venom else,^^ 
But only they, have privilege to live. 
And for these great affairs do ask some charge, 
Towards our assistance we do seize to us 
The plate, coin, revenues, and movables, 
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. 

York. How long shall I be patient? ah, how long 
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong ? 
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment. 
Not G aunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, 
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke 
About his marriage,"^ nor my own disgrace. 
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek. 
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. 
I am the last of noble Edward's sons, 
Of whom thy father. Prince of Wales, was first : 
In war was never lion rag'd more fierce. 
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild. 
Than was that young and princely gentleman. 
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he. 



[act II. sc. I. 

Acconiplish'd with the iiuiiihcr of thy hours ; 
But when lie tVown'cl, it was agaiust the French, 
And not against liis friends : his nohle hand 
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that 
AYhieh his triumphant father's hand had won : 
Ilis hands were guilty of no kindred's hlood, 
But hloody with the enemies of his kin. 
O Bichard ! York is too far gone with grief, 
Or else he never would compare between. 

K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter ? 

York. O my liege. 

Pardon me, if you please ; if not, I, pleas'd 
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. 
Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands. 
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford ? 
Is not Gaunt dead ? and doth not Hereford live ? 
Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true? 
Did not the one deserve to have an heir ? 
Is not his heir a well-deserving son ? 
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time 
His charters and his customary rights ; 
Let'not to-morrow, then, ensue to-day ; 
Be not thyself, — for how art thou a king 
But by fair sequence and succession ? 
Now, afore God — God forbid I say true ! — 
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights. 
Call in the letters-patent that he hath 
By his attorneys-general to sue 
His livery, and deny his ofFer'd homage,"^ 
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head. 
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts. 
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 
Which honour and allegiance cannot think. 

K. Rich. Think what you will, we seize into our hands 
His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. 

York. I'll not be by the while :^ my liege, farewell : 
What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell ; 
But by bad courses may be understood 

That their events can never fall out good. \_ExU. 

K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight : 
Bid him repair to us to Ely-house 
To see this business. To-morrow next 

ACT II. SC. I.] 



We will for Ireland ; and 'tis time, I trow ; 
And w^e create, in absence of ourself, 
Our uncle York lord governor of England ; 
For he is just, and always lov'd us well. — 
Come on, our queen : to-morrow must we part ; 
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. 

[Flourish. Exeunt King, Q,ueen, Aumerle, 
Bushy, Green, and 

North. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. 

Ross. And living too ; for now his son is duke. 

W^illo. Barely in title, not in revenue. 

North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 

Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break with silence, 
Ere 't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. 

North. Nay, speak thy mind ; and let him ne'er speak more 
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm ! 

TVillo. Tends that thou would'st speak to the Duke of 
Hereford ? 
If it be so, out with it boldly, man ; 
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. 

Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him ; 
Unless you call it good to pity him. 
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. 

North. Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne 
In him a royal prince and many more 
Of noble blood in this declining land. 
The king is not himself, but basely led 
By flatterers ; and what they will inform, 
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, 
That will the king severely prosecute 
'Gainst us, our lives,^^ our children, and our heirs. 

Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, 
And quite lost their hearts : the nobles hath he fin'd 
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 

Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd, — 
As blanks, benevolences,^^ and I wot not what : 
But what, o' God's name, doth become of this ? 

North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, 
But basely yielded upon compromise 
That which his ancestors achieved with blows : 
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. 

Ross. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. 

86 RICIIAED THE SECOND. [act ii. sc. i. 

Tf^iUo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. 

Norfh. Reproacli and dissolution hangetli over him. 

Ross, lie hath not money for these Irish wars, 
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, 
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. 

North. His noble kinsman : — most degenerate king ! 
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, 
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm ; 
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, 
And yet we strike not, but securely perish. 

Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer ; 
And unavoided is the danger now. 
For suffering so the causes of our wreck. 

North. Not so ; even through the hollow eyes of death 
I spy life peering ; but I dare not say 
How near the tidings of our comfort is. 

TJ^illo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. 

Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland : 
We three are but thyself ; and, speaking so, 
Thy words are but as thoughts ; therefore, be bold.'^* 

North. Then thus : — I have from Port le Blanc, a bay 
In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence 

That Harry Duke of Hereford, Renald Lord Cobham, 

The son and heir of th' Earl of Arundel, 

That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,^^ 

His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,^" 

Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Thomas Ramston, 

John Norbery, Robert Waterton, and Francis Coint,^^ — 

All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne, 

With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war. 

Are making hither with all due expedience. 

And shortly mean to touch our northern shore : 

Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay 

The first departing of the king for Ireland. 

If, then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke, 

Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,^* 

Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,^^ 

Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt. 

And make high majesty look like itself. 

Away with me in post to Ravenspurg ; 

But if you faint, as fearing to do so, 

Stay and be secret, and myself will go. 




Ross. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to them that fear. 
Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II.— Windsor.'^ A Room in the Castle. 

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. 

Bushy, Madam, your majesty is too much sad : 
You promis'd, when you parted with the king, 
To lay aside life-harming heaviness,*^ 
And entertain a cheerful disposition. 

Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please myself, 
I cannot do it ; yet I know no cause 
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief. 
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest 
As my sweet Richard : yet, again, methinks 
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, 
Is coming towards me ; and my inward soul 
With nothing trembles : at some thing it grieves,*^ 
More than with parting from my lord the king. 

Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows. 
Which show like grief itself, but are not so ; 
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, 
Divides one thing entire to many objects ; 
Like perspectives/^ which rightly gaz'd upon, 
Show nothing but confusion, — ey'd awry. 
Distinguish form : so your sweet majesty. 
Looking awry upon your lord's departure. 
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail ; 
Which, look'd on as it is, is naught but shadows 
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen. 
More than your lord's departure weep not, — more's not seen ; 
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye. 
Which for things true weeps things imaginary. 

Queen. It may be so ; but yet my inward soul 
Persuades me it is otherwise : howe'er it be, 
I cannot but be sad ; so heavy sad. 
As, — though, in*^ thinking, on no thought I think, — 
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 

88 RICHARD THE SECOND. [act ii. sc. ii. 

Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. 

Queen. 'Tis nothing less : conceit is still deriv'd 
From some forefather grief; mine is not so, 
For nothing hath begot my something grief; 
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve 
'Tis in reversion that I do possess 
But what it is, that is not yet known ; what 
I cannot name ; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. 

Enter Green. 

Green. God save your majesty ! — and well met, gentlemen : — 
I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. 

Queen. Why hop'st thou so ? 'tis better hope he is ; 
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope : 
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd ? 

Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power, 
And driven into despair an enemy's hope. 
Who strongly hath set footing in this land : 
The banish'd Bolinghroke repeals himself, 
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd 
At Ravenspurg. 

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid ! 

Green. O, madam, 'tis too true : and that is worse. 
The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, 
The lords of Ross, Beaumont, and Willoughby, 
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. 

Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland, 
And all the rest of the revolted faction, traitors 

Green. We have : whereupon the Earl of Worcester 
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, 
And all the household servants fled with him 
To Bolinghroke. 

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, 
And Bolinghroke my sorrow's dismal heir r*'' 
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy ; 
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother. 
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 

Bushy. Despair not, madam. 

Queen. Who shall hinder me ? 

I will despair, and be at enmity 
With cozening hope ; — he is a flatterer. 

ACT n. sc. n.] 


A parasite, a keeper-back of death, 

Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, 

Which false hope lingers in extremity. 

Green. Here comes the Duke of York. 

Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck : 
0, full of careful business are his looks. 

Enter York. 

Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. 

Yorh. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts : 
Comfort's in heaven ; and we are on the earth. 
Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. 
Your husband, he is gone to save far off, 
Whilst others come to make him lose at home : 
Here am I left to underprop his land. 
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself : 
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made ; 
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. 

Yorh. He was ? — Why, so ! — go all which way it will 
The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, ° 
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. — 
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster ; 
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound : — 
Hold, take my ring. 

Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship. 
To-day, as I came by, I called there ; — 
But I shall grieve you to report the rest. 

Yorh. What is't, knave ? 

8erv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. 

Yorh. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes 
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once ! 
I know not what to do : — I would to God 
(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it), 
The king had cut off my head with my brother's. — 
What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland — 
How shall we do for money for these wars ? — 
Come, sister, — cousin, I would say, — pray, pardon me. 




[act II. sc. II. 

Go, fellow [to the Servant], get thee home, provide some carts, 

And bring away the armour that is there. \_Exit Servant. 

Gentlemen, Avill you go muster men ? If I know 

How or which way to order these affairs. 

Thus disorderly thrust into my hands, 

Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen : — 

The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath 

And duty bid defend ; the other, again, 

Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd. 

Whom conscience and my kindred bid to right. 

Well, somewhat we must do. — Come, cousin, I'll 

Dispose of you. — Gentlemen, go, muster up your men. 

And meet me presently at Berkley Castle. 

I should to Plashy too ; — 

But time will not permit : — all is uneven. 

And every thing is left at six and seven. 

[Exeunt York and Queen. 

Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, 
But none returns. For us to levy power 
Proportionable to the enemy 
Is all impossible. 

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love 
Is near the hate of those love not the king. 

Bagot. And that's the wavering commons : for their love 
Lies in their purses ; and whoso empties them, 
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. 

Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. 

Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we. 
Because we ever have been near the king. 

Green. Well, 
I will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle : 
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. 

Bushy. Thither will I with you ; for little office 
The hateful commons will perform for us. 
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. — 
Will you go along with us ? 

Bagot. No ; I will to Ireland to his majesty. 
Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain. 
We three here part that ne'er shall meet again. 

Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. 

Green. Alas, poor duke ! the task he undertakes 
Is numbering sands, and drinking oceans dry : 

.\We rr-lJu /■ ■r.u.una^.rn ./ ' .W- M.ync/, r.spec^l^u/ Mr P/av r/' /Mum/ ^/u- Second^ 
/',T/n t/ie ('n</!rNf/ in f/if /^ta/r /'fi/>rr OfTi'ce'. 


Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. 
Farewell at once, — for once, for all, and ever. 

Bushy. Well, we may meet again. 

Bagot. I fear me, never. 


Scene III. — Glostershirey near Berhley Castle, 

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, with Forces. 

Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now ? 

North. Believe me, nohle lord, 
I am a stranger here in Glostershire : 
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,^^ 
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome ; 
And yet your fair discourse" hath been as sugar, 
Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
But I bethink me what a weary way 
From Raven spurg to Cotsw^old will be found 
In Ross and Willoughby,^^ wanting your company. 
Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd 
The tediousness and process of my travel : 
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have 
The present benefit which I possess ; 
And hope to joy, is little less in joy,^^ 
Than hope enjoy 'd : by this the weary lords 
Shall make their way seem short ; as mine hath done 
By sight of what I have, your noble company. 

Bol'mg. Of much less value is my company 
Than your good words. — But who comes here ? 

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. 

Enter Percy. 

Harry, how fares your uncle ? 

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health 
of you. 

North. Why, is he not with the queen ? 


RICHAED THE SECOND. [act u. sc. iii. 

Percy. No, my good lord ; he hath forsook the court, 
Hroken his statt' of office, and dispers'd 
The household of the king. 

Xorth. What was his reason ? 

He was not so resolv'd when last we spake together. 

Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. 
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, 
To offer service to the Duke of Hereford ; 
And sent me over hy Berkley, to discover 
What })ower the Duke of York had levied there ; 
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. 

North. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy ? 

Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot 
Which ne'er I did remember : to my knowledge, 
I never in my life did look on him. 

North. Then learn to know him now; this is the duke. 

Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, 
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young ; 
Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm 
To more approved service and desert. 

Boliny. I thank thee, gentle Percy ; and be sure 
I count myself in nothing else so happy 
As in a soul remembering my good friends ; 
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love. 
It shall be still thy true love's recompense : 
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. 

North. Mow far is it to Berkley ? and what stir 
Keeps good old York there with his men of war ? 

Percy. There stands the castle, by yond tuft of trees, 
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard ; 
And in it are the Lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour, — 
None else of name and noble estimate."^ 

North. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, 
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. 

Enter Ross and Willoughby. 

Boling. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues 
A banish'd traitor : all my treasury 
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd. 
Shall be your love and labour's recompense. 

Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. 



TVillo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. 

Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor ; 
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, 
Stands for my bounty. — But who comes here? 

North. It is my Lord of Berkley, as I guess. 

Enter Lord Berkley. 

Berh. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you. 

Boling. My lord, my answer is — to I^ancaster -^^ 
And I am come to seek that name in England ; 
And I must find that title in your tongue. 
Before I make reply to aught you say. 

Berh. Mistake me not, my lord ; 'tis not my meaning 
To raze one title of your honour out -^^ — 
To you, my lord, I come (what lord you will). 
From the most gracious regent of this land,^^ 
The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on 
To take advantage of the absent time,^* 
And fright our native peace with self-born arms. 

Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you ; 
Here comes his grace in person. 

Enter York attended. 

My noble uncle ! [Kneels. 

York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee. 
Whose duty is deceivable and false. 

Boling. My gracious uncle ! — 

Yorh. Tut, tut ! 
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle 
I am no traitor's uncle ; and that word " grace" 
In an ungracious mouth is but profane. 
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs 
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground t 
But, then, more why,^*^ — why have they dar'd to march 
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, 
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war 
And ostentation of despised arms?"^ 
Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence ? 
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind. 
And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 

EICHAED THE SECOND. [act ii. sc. iii. 

Were I but now the lord of such hot youth 
As when brave Gaunt thy father, and myself, 
Reseu'd the Blaek Prince, that young Mars of men, 
From forth the ranks of many thousand French, 
O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine, 
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee. 
And minister correction to thy faidt ! 

BoVing. ^ly gracious uncle, let me know my fault ; 
On w hat condition stands it and wherein ? 

York. Even in condition of the worst degree, — 
In gross rebellion and detested treason ; 
Thou art a banish'd man ; and here art come 
Before the expiration of thy time. 
In braving arms against thy sovereign. 

Boling. As I w^as banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford ; 
But as I come, I come for Lancaster. 
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace 
Look on my WTongs with an indifferent eye 
You are my father, for methinks in you 
I see old Gaunt alive ; O, then, my father. 
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
A wandering vagabond ; my rights and royalties 
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away 
To upstart unthrifts ? Wherefore was I born ? 
If that my cousin king be King of England, 
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. 
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ; 
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down. 
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father. 
To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay.^^ 
I am denied to sue my livery here, 
And yet my letters-patent give me leave : 
My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold ; 
And these and all are all amiss employ'd. 
What would you have me do ? I am a subject. 
And challenge law : attorneys are denied me ; 
And therefore personally I lay my claim 
To my inheritance of free descent. 

North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd. 

Ross. It stands your grace upon to do him right. ^° 

Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. 

Yorh. My lords of England, let me tell you this : — 



I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, 
And labour'd all T could to do him right ; 
But in this kind to come, in braving arms, 
Be his own carver, and cut out his way, 
To find out right with wrong, — it may not be ; 
And you that do abet him in this kind 
Cherish rebellion and are rebels all. 

North. The noble duke hath sworn,^^ his coming is 
But for his own ; and for the right of that 
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid ; 
And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath ! 

York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms ; — 
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, 
Because my power is weak and all ill left : 
But if I could, by him that gave me life, 
I would attach you all, and make you stoop 
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king ; 
But since I cannot, be it known to you 
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well ; — 
Unless you please to enter in the castle, 
And there repose you for this night. 

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept : 
But we must win your grace to go with us 
To Bristol Castle, which they say is held 
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices. 
The caterpillars of the commonwealth. 
Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. 

Yorh. It may be I will go with you : — but yet I'll pause ; 
For I am loth to break our country's laws. 
Nor friends, nor foes,^^ to me welcome you are : 
Things past redress are now with me past care. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Camp hy Conway ' in Wales. 

Enter Salisbury,'* and a Captain. 

Caj). My Lord of Salisbury,^^ we have stay'd ten days. 
And hardly kept our countrymen together. 
And yet we hear no tidings from the king ; 
Therefore we will disperse ourselves : farewell. 



[act II. sc. IV. 

Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman : 
The king reposeth all his confidence in thee. 

Cap. 'l^is thought, the king is dead we will not stay. 
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd," 
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven -J^ 
The pale-fae'd moon looks bloody on the earth, 
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change ; 
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, — 
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy. 
The other to enjoy by rage and war ; 
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. — 
Farewell : our countrymen are gone and fled, 
As well assur'd Richard their king is dead. \_Ea]it. 

Sal. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind, 
I see thy glory, like a shooting star, 
Fall to the base earth from the firmament ! 
The sun sets weeping in the lowly west. 
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest : 
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes ; 
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. \_Exit. 

^ The Buhe of Torh. 

Edmund Plantagenet, surnamed Langley, from his birth-place in Hertford- 
shire, was the fifth son of Edward the Third. He was born in 1341, created Earl 
of Cambridge in 1362, and Duke of York in 1385. 

That Edmonde hight of Langley, of good chere 
Glede and mery, and of his owne ay lived 
Withoutyn wronge, as chroniclers have breved. 
"When al lordes went to counsels and parlement, 
He wolde to huntes and also to hawkynge, 
All gentilnes disporte that myrth appent 
He used aie, and to the poor supportynge, 
"Wherever he wase in any place bidynge, 
Withoute supprise or any extorcion, 

Of the porayle or any oppression 

The kynge than made the Duke of Yorke be name 
Maister of the Mewhouse, and of hawkes feire. 
Of his venerie and maister of his game. 
In whatt cuntraie that he dyde repeire, 
Whiche wase to hym withoute any dispeyre. 
With more comforte and a gretter gladnes neire. 
Than been a lorde of worldly great riches. 

Hardyng's Chronicle, MS. Earleian, 661, fol. 147. 

" He resided at his own castle," says Eroissart, Xll. c. 25, " with his people, 
and interfered not in what was passing in the country, nor had done so for a long 
time, but taking all things as they happened, although he was very much vexed 
that there should be such great differences between his nephew, the king, and his 

^ As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last. 
In England's Parnassus, 1600, where the greater portion of the present speech 

IX. 13 



is quoted, the last word of tins line is given last, as if it were taste, to be 
pronounced in rbyme to past. The line is there printed exactly as follows, — " As 
the last tast of sweet is sweetest tast." 

^ As, praises of his state : then, there are found. 

The two earliest quartos, those of 1597 and 1598, give this line, " As praises, 
of whose taste the wise are found," which yields admirable sense, if we read fond 
for " found," a very easy corruption. The two quartos of 1608 and 1615 have 
the line as in our text, and they are followed by the folio, 1623 : these authorities 
we feel unwillingly bound to take. — Collier. 

* Lascitioits metres. 

The old co])ics have — meeters ; but I believe we should read metres for verses. 
Thus the folio spells the word metre in the First Part of King Henry IV. Venom 
sound agrees well with lascivious ditties, but not so commodiously wdth one who 
meets another ; in which sense the word appears to have been generally received. 
— Steevens. 

The old copies read meeters, which I take to be, not verses, as Steevens 
supposes, but the rhymers themselves. — Seymour. 

^ Beport of fashions in proud Italy. 

In the time of Shakespeare, Italy was the chief place whence England derived 
and copied the refinements of fashion. Forks and toothpicks were among the 
conveniences imported thence by travellers. Shakespeare, with an inaccuracy 
common to all the writers of his time, and therefore doubtless thought allowable, 
attributes the same imitation to the age of Eichard the Second, when it had not 
vet commenced. — Nares. 

Italy Avas, in the poet's time, as much in vogue with our English gallants as 
France has been since for fashions, &c. And indeed Harry Stevens a Frenchman, 
who liv'd much about Shakespeare's time, by this complaint, " that the more a 
Frenchman Avas Romaniz'd, or Italianiz'd, the sooner he should be promoted by 
the great men, as having bestow'd his time well and as being a man fit for 

The allusion to the imitation of Italian fashions, if it be really an anachronism, 
is not one which is of any consequence. The reference implied is of course to the 
grotesque fashions of costume then in vogue. One of the most curious of these was 
the long-toed solleret, a specimen of which, of the time of Eichard the Second, in 
the possession of Lord Londesborough, is here engraved. 

Marke, and you love me, who's yond marching hither, 
Some brave Low-countrey captain, with his feather 



And bigh-crownd-hat, see into Paules he goes, 
To showe his doublet and Italian Hose. 

The Mastive, or Young TFhelpe of the Olde Dogge^ 1615. 

^ Against infection. 

So all the old copies, but in England's Parnassus, 1600, where the passage 
is quoted, infection is altered to intestion, which seems to have no meaning, unless 
it be supposed to be derived from the Latin, intestinum helium. There are diffi- 
culties in the reception of either reading, and the chief notes of the commentators 
are therefore added : — 

I once suspected that for infection we might read invasion ; but the copies all 
agree, and I suppose Shakespeare meant to say that islanders are secured by their 
situation both from war and pestilence. — Johnson. 

Eor the substitution of the word infestion, which was suggested by Dr. Farmer, 
and differs from the original word but by a single letter, I am answerable. Since 
the year 1665, this happy island has been entirely free from the plague; and if 
ever we should be again molested by that fatal malady, it will unquestionably arise 
from infection communicated from foreign parts. A poet, therefore, of the 
present day, in speaking of Great Britain, might naturally mention its being, by 
its insular situation, exempt from that contagion to which the natives of the 
continent are exposed ; and also from the hostile incursions of its enemies. 
But in our poet's time there was in London every year an indigenous plague, if I 
may use the expression, from May till October ; and a considerable number of the 
inhabitants were annually destroyed by this malignant disease. Shakespeare, 
therefore, I conceive, would never mention the circumstance of our being secured, 
by our insular situation, from foreign infection, as a fortunate circumstance, 
knowing that such security availed nothing; since, notwithstanding our being 
possessed of a fortress built by nature for herself, our own native pestilence was 
annually extremely destructive. 1 think, therefore, that in both parts of this line, 
he had only one circumstance in his thoughts, our not being exposed to foreign 
hostile incursions ; and the copulative and seems to countenance this supposition. 
I may add, that the preceding verse strongly supports this notion ; for a natural 
fortress, such as is here described, is opposed properly and immediately to the 
open hostile attacks of an enemy, and not to the lurking infection of the plague, 
which seems here entirely out of place. Though 1 have not met with an example 
of the use of the word infestion, in the sense of infestation, similar abbreviations 
occur in other places in our author's plays : thus we have prohal for probable in 
Othello, and captious for capacious in All's Well That Ends Well. In like 
manner. Bishop Hall, in his Cases of Conscience, 8vo. p. 202, edit. 1651, uses 
acception for acceptation : " Against infestion, and the hand of warriors ; against 
the infesting or assailing force of an enemy." I shall only add that Bacon 
employs the word infestatio?i in the same sense ; — " touching tlie infestation of 
pirates he hath been careful, and is," — Speech in the Star-chamber, 1617. — 

The sea is some defence against pestilential infections ; it is also a defence 
against moral infections, which probably were intended. The following passage 
in the Dedication of the Running Register to Sir Julius Csesar, by Lewis Owen, 
1626, may be brought in support of the probability that moral not natural 
infection was what Shakespeare meant, — " Having in my many years travell in 
forain countries scene with mine eyes, and by conference with others learned, the 
state of the colleges, seminaries, and cloisters which our English fugitives have in 
all those forraine parts, together with some part of their practices, impostures, 
cozenage, and deceits, their whole drifte being to alienate the hearts of his 




Majesty's subjects from tlieir allegiance, and to possess them with the filthy dregs 
of Spanish injection and Popish superstition." — Hinder. 

LiJ'eclioii, in Shakespeare's time, was used, as it is now, to express the taint of 
some pernicious quality; and was more particularly applied to that frightful disease, 
the i)lague, to whose ravages London was annually subject. Eor Shakespeare, 
therefore, to call England, — " This for/ress, built by nature for herself, — Against 
i)ifectio)i" would sound very unreasonable to an audience who were constantly 
witnesses of the ravages of infection, " The silver sea" was then unavaihng to 
keep out " the pestilence which walketh in darkness." Eut, on the other hand, 
England had been long free from foreign invasion. Lifestion is taken, by Malone, 
to be an abbreviation of infestation, in the same way that, in Bishop Hall, 
deception is used for acceptation. Infestation apjiears to have designated those 
violent incursions of an enemy — those annoying, joy-depriving ((infestiis) ravages — 
to which an unprotected frontier is peculiarly exposed ; and from which the sea, 
" as a moat defensive to a house," shut out " this scepter'd isle." Still, infection, 
being a word of which there can be no doubt of the meaning, is to be preferred, if 
we can be content to receive the idea in a limited sense — that the sea in some 
sort kept out pestilence, though not absolutely. — Knight. 

Dr. Johnson thinks that, by infection, the author means that islanders were 
secure by situation from war and pestilence : not surely from the latter, if they had 
any intercourse by trade with foreign nations. In this rhapsodical description of 
England by Gaunt, the poet means, I think, to include a particular and exclusive 
kind of moral happiness. Though we are not exempted from warlike invasions, 
we are secure from the contamination of such ill habits and vices as are familiar to 
Italy and other parts of the continent. — Bavies. 

Less liappier lands. 

So read all the editions, except Hanmer's, which has less happy. I believe, 
Shakespeare, from the habit of saying more happier, according to the custom of 
his time, inadvertently writ less happier. — Johnson. 

^ Feard hy their breed, and famous hy their hirth. 

" Eear'd by their breed," that is, feared for their hereditary valour, dreaded on 
account of their martial descent. The above is the reading of all the quartos, 
excepting ed. 1C84, which follows the first and second folio, which both read : — 
" Eear'd hy their breed, and famous/br their birth." Eowe reads : — " Eear'd for 
their breed, and famous /or their birth." 

There is some resemblance in the mode of expression between this passage and 
the following in the Earewell to Follie, one of the tracts of his predecessor 
Green's, which appeared in 1598 : " My lordes and worthy peeres of '^Vi^d,., feared 
for your valour and famous for your victories, let not the private will of one be the 
ruin of such a mighty kingdom." — Malone. 

" Or pelting farm. 

Whatever doubts there may be as to the origin of this word, its application is 
perfectly clear. It invariably means something petty — of little worth. The 
pelting farm in this passage, and " the poor pelting villages" of Lear, would leave 
no doubt as to its use, even if we had not " a pelting little town," and " a pelting 
village of barbarous people," in North's Plutarch. The epithet was not confined 
to inanimate things. Gabriel Harvey, it seems, wrote the word panlting ; and as 
palt is the Teutonic word for a scrap — a rag — some say that paulting, pelting, 
and paltry, are the same. Pelt, as is well known, is a skin. The fur trade is 
still called the peltry trade. But skins— peltries — in former times might have 



been considered comparatively worthless. A dead fowl thrown to a hawk was, 
according to Grose, a i^elt. Thus pelthig may have been derived directly from 
pelt^ although it may have had some original affinity with paltry. — Knight. 

With inky Hots, and rotten parchment bonds. 
Lthj hlots, that is, inky writings, in contempt. Gaunt does not allude, as he 
supposes, to any loans or exactions extorted by Richard, but to the circumstance 
of his having actually farmed out his royal realm, as he himself styles it. In the 
last scene of the first act, he says : — 

And for our coffers are grown somewhat light, 
We are enforced to farm our royal realm. 

And it afterwards appears that the person who farmed the realm was the Earl 
of Wiltshire, one of his own favourites. " In this 22d yeare of King Richard, the 
common fame ranne that the kinge had letten to farm the realme unto Sir 
William Scrope, earle of Wiltshire, and then treasurer of England, to Syr John 
Bushey, Sir John Bagot, and Sir Henry Grene, knightes," Eabyan. — Mason. 


Thomas de Ros, seventh baron Ros of Hamlake, afterwards Lord Treasurer 
of England. The name was taken from the lordship of Ros in Holderness, where 
the ancestors of this nobleman resided in the reign of Henry the Eirst. 


William the fifth Baron Willoughby of Eresby, who was summoned to 
Parliament from 1396 to 1409, in which latter year he died. He married Joan, 
widow of Edmund Duke of York. 

13 young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. 
Blackstone, who is followed by Ritson, proposes rein\l instead of rag'd ; but I 
believe the plain meaning is, that young colts, being enraged in their manage, only 
become tnoi^e furious. — Seymour. The Perkins MS. reads iirg'd, but surely no 
alteration is necessary, the original text being in agreement with the context, and 
the jingling repetition exactly in Shakespeare's manner. 

^* Should dying men flatter those that live ? 

The metre is defective. Possibly the poet wrote, — " Should dying men then 
flatter those that live ?" — Heath. Other editors read, flatter loith, but the 
original text is probably correct. 

Which art possess'' d now to depose thyself. 

Here is a play upon the three meanings of the word possess'd, invested with 
dominion, endued with a purpose, and being bewitched, or, as Steevens thinks, 
afilicted with a demon. The second possess d in this sentence is used in the same 
way in which Maria speaks of Malvolio, in Twelfth Night : — " He is, sure, 
possess'd, madam." — Seymour. 

Landlord of England art thou noio, not king. 

This is perhaps in allusion to a statement in Holinshed, — " the common brute 
ran that the king had set to farme the realme of England unto Sir AVilliam 
Scroope, Sir John Bushie, Sir John Bagot, and Sir Henrie Greene." 

The profits and revenues of the crowne were said to bee let to farme, the King- 
making himselfe landlord of his realme, and challenging no great priviledge by 
his raigne, but onely a dissolute and uncontrouled life. Great summes of money 
were yearely rather exacted from the subjects, then by them voluntarily graunted ; 



whereof no good did ensue, but the maintenance of the King's private delights, 
and the advancement of his hatefull favorites. — llayicarcVs Life of Ilenrie the 
Fourth, 1599. 

In thys xxij. yere of kynge Hy chard, the common fame ranne that the kynge 
hade letton to ferme the realme of Englonde unto syr Wyllyam Scrope, erle of 
Wylshere, and than tresourer of Englonde, to sir John Busshey, syr John Bagot, 
and syr Henry Grene knyghtis : the whiche toiirned shortly after to theyre greate 
confusions. — Fabi/ans Chronicle. 

Thy state of law is bondslave to the law. 

The reasoning of Gaunt, I think, is this: "By setting the royalties to farm, 
thou hast reduced thyself to a state below sovereignty, thou art now no longer 
king but landlord of England, subject to the same restraint and limitations as 
other landlords ; by making thy condition a state of law, a condition upon which the 
common rules of law can operate, thou art become a bondslave to the law ; thou 
hast made thyself amenable to laws from which thou wert originally exempt. — 

Thy state of law," may be briefly interpreted " thy legal state ;" that rank in 
the state and these large demesnes which the constitution has allotted to thee, are 
now bond-slave to the law ; being subject to the same legal restrictions as every 
ordinaiy pelting farm that has been let on lease. — Ilalone. 

Johnson's explanation is in general just ; but I think that the words, of law, 
must mean, by law, or accordhiy to laiv, as we say, of course, and of right, instead 
of by right, or by course. — Gaunt's reasoning is this — " Having let your kingdom 
by lease, you are no longer the king of England, but the landlord only; and your 
state is by law, subject to the law." — M. Mason. 

Heath explains the words " state of law," somewhat differently : " Thy royal 
estate is now, in virtue of thy having leased it out, subjected, like that of thy 
vassals, to every common process of the law. Warburton hath quite mistaken our 
poet, when he supposes him to mean — the King's being enslaved to his 

And thou a lunatic lean-witted fool. 

In the disposition of these lines I have followed the folio, in giving the word 
thou to the king ; but the regulation of the first quarto, 1597, is perhaps preferable, 

being more in our poet's manner : — " Gaunt. And thou K. Bich. a 

lunatic, lean-witted fool,'' — And thou a mere cypher in thy own kingdom. Gaunt 
was going to say. Bichard interrupts him, and takes the word thou in a different 
sense, applying it to Gaunt, instead of himself. — Malone. 

The stage-effect of the older reading is much superior to that of the lection in 
the foiio. Bichard follows instantly, and in anger, the word thou, meaning to say, 
" thoti art a lunatic lean-witted fool," the words thou art being understood. 
Nevertheless, as, in point of fact, the reading of the quarto involves the. necessity 
of the king calling himself lunatic fool, the alteration made in the folio is here 

Mahe pale our cheeh. 

Bichard was of a ruddy complexion, and was wont to turn pale with anger. 
" This speech was not agreeable to the king ; it appeared to me that his face grew 
pale with anger ; he sware in great wrath by Saint Edward, that, no, never for his 
own, he brings young and old under subjection ; they leave nothing to the poor 
people that can be carried away. Besolve, sire, to make haste, that you may 
quickly set aside his enterprise, who doeth much to blame. It seemed to me that 



the king's face at this turned pale with anger, while he said, — Come hither, 
friends ; good Lord, this man designs to deprive me of my country," Creton's 
contemporary narrative. 

That blood alread//, like the pelican. 

In allusion to the well known legend of the pelican feeding her young with 
her own blood, the popular belief in which is well illustrated by the following 
account of an ancient bronze seal, of Enghsh workmanship, communicated by Mr. 
W. Chaffers, — " This elegant seal, or rather matrix, was discovered in Dorset- 
shire a few years since, and is pro- 
bably unfinished, as it could not con- 
veniently be used in its present 
form. The device is ' a pelican in her 
piety,' as it is heraldically termed, 
wounding her breast to feed her young, 
who are seen holding up their beaks to 
receive the fabled nourishment; the 
nest rests upon a tree with spreading 
branches, around which is the following 
rhyming legend : — " Jesu me smyte 
smertte — Dup imto the hertte." The 
spelling is peculiar, and the form of 
the letters, which are of early Gothic 
character, may perhaps be ascribed to 
the thirteenth century. It is a very 
curious example, and was no doubt the 
personal seal of some ecclesiastic, 
whose name is possibly to be found in the legend. In looking over the list of 
deans of the monastery of Wimbourne, near which the seal was discovered, I find 
one Walter Hertte, who died a.d. 1467. Did not the matrix bespeak a somewhat 
earlier origin, I should have been inclined to appropriate it to him, as these 
punning rebuses were very common during the middle ages." 

Hdst thou tapp\l out. 

The king not yet quieted, sent one of his justices called Wylliam Rykyll, 
borne in Ireland, to Calice, which was commaunded to enquire of the Duke of 
Gloucester, whether he had committed any such treasons as before were alleged 
agaynst the Erie of Arundell, and the Erie of Warwike, and that he should write 
what he sayde, and what the Duke did confesse ; which after the sayde justice had 
speedely done, he returned unto the king, and shewed him such things of hisawne 
devise, as he thought would best please the king, affirming that those things the 
Duke had franckly confessed. The king, after the sight therof, purposed the 
death of the Duke, and yet not willing to have him brought unto open judgement, 
for he feared the people, who bare him great love and favour, and therefore he sent 
the Erie of Nottynghara unto Thomas Mowbrey Erie Marshall, which then had 
the keeping of the duke in Calice, and commaunded him that privily the. Duke 
should be killed. But he fearing to commit such an enorne deede, deferred the 
matter, though the king would have had it done with all speede. Eor the which 
the king was sore mooved agaynst the Erie, and sware that it shoulde coste him 
his lyfe, if he obeyed not quickly his commaundement. And beyng thus con- 
streyned, he called out the Duke at midnight, as though he should have taken 
shypping to go into Englande, and there in his lodgyng with his servaunts, castnig 
on fetherbeds upon him, he was smowthered. And so was this honorable and 



good man miserable put to deatli which for the honor of the king and wealth of 
thcrealme bad taken great travayles. — Or af ton 8 Chromcle. 

And till/ nnhindness be like crooked age. 

Do thou forget all proximity of blood, and become a confederate witli my 
l)resent sickness and tlie many infirmities of old age, to deprive me at once of life. 
Shakespeare had probably two different, but kindred ideas in his mind ; the bend 
of age, and the sickle of time, which he confounded together. — Mason. 

Shakespeare, I believe, took tliis idea from the figure of Time, who was 
represented as carrying a sickle as well as a scythe. A sickle was anciently called 
a crook, and sometimes, as in the following instances, crooked may mean armed 
with a crook. So, in Kendall's Epigrams, 1577 : — 

The regall king and crooked clowne 
All one alike death driveth downe. 

Again, in the 100th Sonnet of Shakespeare : — 

Give my love, fame, faster than time wastes life, 
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife. 

Again, in the 119th : — 

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
"Within his lending sickle's compass come. 

It may be mentioned, however, that crooked is an epithet bestowed on age in 
the tragedy of Locrine, 1595: — "Now yield to death o'erlaid by crooked age." 
Locrine has been attributed to Shakespeare ; and in this passage quoted from it, 
no allusion to a scytlie can be supposed. Our poet's expressions are sometimes 
confused and abortive. — Steevens. 

I do not believe our author had the figure of Time in his thoughts ; but merely 
gave to age the same epithet which is given to it by many of his contemporaries 
and predecessors. So, in A Flourish upon Eancie, by N. B. (Nicholas Breton,) 

Who, when that he awhile hath bin in fancies schoole. 
Doth learne in his old crooked age to play the doting foole. 

Again, in Sylvester's translation of Dubartas, 4to, 1605, p. 251 : — " If you 
desire your children should blesse your crooked age." Again, in Turbervile's 
Songs and Sonets, 1567, — " Would Death would spare to spoyle, — And crooked 
age to rase." — Malone. 

Eepining at his dearth his death did crave 
So crooked age convayes him to the grave. 

MS. Sloane, 1489, p. 26. 

That age and sullens have. 

He is like Captaine Cloux, foole of Lyons, that would needs die of the sullens, 
because his master would entertaine a new foole besides himselfe. — Lodge's Wits 
Miserie, 1596, p. 73. 

Car. Prethee good honest, old patcht peece of experience, goe home and weare 
thy selfe out in contemplation, and doe not vexe me with problemes, they can doe 
no more good upon me, then a young pittifuU lover upon a mistresse, that has the 
sullens. — Fkl. AYell, sir, I could willingly waite upon you in the way of honour 
and reputation. — Marmyon's Fine Companion, 1633. 

Sometimes a fit of sullens scales your jawes, 
In contemplation big of Jove knowes what. 

Historic of Albino and Bellama, 1638. 



^* Enter Northumherland. 

Henry Percy, thirteenth Baron Percy; Created Earl of Northumberland 16 
July, 1377; Earl Marshal; appointed Lord High Constable for life 1399; slain 
1408 ; and being attainted, his honours became forfeited. 

Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 

He died on February 4ith, 1398-9. " Thus contynuyng this mysordre within 
the lande, dyed syr John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, at the bysshop of Elyes 
place in Holborne, and from thens was caryed unto seynt Paulys, and there upon 
the northe syde of the quyer honourablye, buryed, at whose enterrement all the 
chefe lordys of Englonde were present," Eabyan. 

His son founded a chapel and cliantry opposite to the tomb, 4 Hen. IV. ; and in 
the tenth year of his reign gave divers messuages and lands to the dean and chapter, 
for the celebration of masses on the anniversaries of the death of his father and 
mother, at which the mayor and sheriffs of London were to attend. Eight large 
tapers were to be lighted around the tomb on these days of exequies, and on the 
morrow, and on every great festival and Sundays, at the procession, mass, and 
second vespers for ever. Eroissart speaks thus of his death : "It happened 
that, about Christmas-tide, Duke John of Lancaster fell dangerously ill of a dis- 
order which ended his life, to the great grief of all his friends. He had been some- 
time very low-spirited, on account of the banishment of his son, whom his nephew 
King Eichard had forced out of England for a trifling cause, and also for the 
manner in which the kingdom was governed, which, if persevered in, he foresaw 
must be it's ruin." — JFehb. 

^° Which live Uke venom. 

Then the mariners hoisted sail without delay, and in less than two days we 
came in sight of the tower of Waterford, in Ireland ; where the wretched and 
filthy people, some in rags, others girt with a rope, had the one a hole, the other 
a hut for their dwelling. These were forced to carry great burdens, and to go 
into the water up to their waists, for the speedy unloading of the barges from the 
sea. — Creton. 

'^'^ Where no venom else. 

This is an allusion to the well-known legend of St. Patrick freeing Ireland 
from reptiles. " In the wondrous eflPects of the clime of Ireland, and the freedom 
from all venomous creatures, the credulity of common conceit imputes this 
immunity upon the benediction of St. Patrick, as Beda and Gyraldus have left 
recorded," Browne's Enquiries, p. 409. 

For the blessing which it hath pleased God to vouchsafe to that countrey, in 
purging it from all sorts of wormes that are venimous or poisonable, this benefite 
onely they ascribe to saint Patricke, and will in no wise acknowledge it to be the 
blessing of God. — RijcKs Short Survey of Ireland, 1609. 

So, in Decker's Honest Whore, 1630 :■ — " — that Irish Judas, — Bred in a 
country where no venom prospers, — But in his blood." Again, in Puimus Troes, 
1633 : — " As Irish earth doth poison poisonous beasts." So, in the Honest Man's 
Fortune, — " Ver. Madam ? — Lam. How like you the country ? — Fer. I like the 
air of it well, madam : and the rather because, as on Irish timber your spider will 
not make his web." 

About his marriage. 

The Duke of Herfford tooke his leave of the king at Eltham, and there the 
king released unto him foure yeres of his banishment. And so he toke his 
IX. li 



iourncy, and came to Calico, and so into Eraunce, where he conthmed a while. 
When he was arrived in Eraunce, king Charles hecryng- the cause of his banish- 
ment, which he esteemed very small and light, receyved him gently and honorably 
entertcyncd him : Insomuch, that he had by favour obteined the mariage of the 
only daughter of John Duke of Berry, uncle to the Erench king, if king Richard 
had not cast a stop in his way ; Eor he well considered how the commonaltie loved 
the Duke, and howc desyrous they were of his returne into England ; and then 
foresecyng that if he should be joyned wyth so great an affinitie as the blood of 
the house of Berry was in Eraunce, and afterward sodeinly to returne into Englande, 
it might fortune to turne to hys more displeasure then pleasure, wherefore he letted 
that mariage. — Graftoirs Chronicle. 

Bolingbroke in his banishment had repaired to the court of Charles VL, where 
he was received with the most marked hospitality and attention. During his stay 
he offered his hand to Marie, youngest daughter of the Duke of Berry, who had 
lately lost her second husband Philip of Artois, Count of Eu, and Constable of 
France, who perished in Turkey. This intelligence awakened the jealousy of 
Richard, who apprehended that it might defeat the advantages that he expected 
from his union with a daughter of Erance. He therefore charged the Earl of 
Salisbury to go to Paris, and set aside the match. Salisbury was as averse to the 
mission as his master was to their union. However, he executed his charge most 
effectually ; but the Erench were scandalised at the employment of the term 
" traitor" against their visitor ; and Salisbury's behaviour towards him highly 
offended him. " He knew," says Eroissart, " of the Earl of Salisbury being at 
Paris ; but they never saw each other ; and the Earl of Salisbury returned to 
Calais without speaking to him." And again, "the Earl of Derby was much 
displeased that the Earl of Salisbury should leave Paris without seeing him." He 
afterwards put these expressions into the mouth of Henry's friends ; " the Earl of 
Salisbury has done very wrong to carry such a message to Erance, and make so 
heavy a charge against the most honourable man in the world. The day will come 
when he shall repent of this, and say ; ' It weighs heavily on me that I ever 
carried a message to Erance against the Earl of Derby.' " — Webb. 

To sue his livery. 

Malone gives the following explanation of this passage : — " On the death of 
every person who held by knight's service, the escheator of the court in which he 
died summoned a jury, who inquired what estate he died seized of, and of what age 
his next heir was. If he was under age, he became a ward of the king's ; but if 
he Avas found to be of full age, he then had a right to sue out a writ of ouster le 
main, — that is, his livery, — tliat the king's hand might be talcen off, and the land 
delivered to him." Bolingbroke had appointed attorneys to execute this office for 
him, if his father should die during the period of his banishment. — Knight. 

After his death, the duchy of Lancaster did in right devolve to the duke of 
Hereford, his eldest son ; but the King (as the nature of man is inclinable to hate 
those whom hee hath harmed) seazed all the landes and goods which appertained 
to the Duke of Lancaster, into his owne handes, and determined to perpetuate 
the banishment of Duke Henry his sonne ; revoking the letters patents, which 
were graunted to him at his departure : whereby his generall atturneis were 
enabled to prosecute his causes, and sue liverie of any inheritance ; which during 
his exile, might fall unto him. — Hayward's Life of Henrie the Fourth, 1599. 

not he by, the tvhile. 

Duryng the first yere of the exile of this duke, his father John of Gaunt 
Duke of Lancaster dyed, and is buryed on the North syde of the quier of the church 



of Saint Paules in London. The death of this duke shortened the life of King 
Eychard, for he, notwithstandyng that the Duchie of Lancaster was to this Duke 
Henrye lawfully discended, not onely seased without right or title all the goodes of 
the sayde Duke John his parent, but also defrauded his heyre of his laufuU 
inheritaunce, receyvyng the rentes and revenues of all his patrimonie, and gevyng 
to other that which was not his, and distributed the duke's landes to his parasites, 
and flatteryng folowers. This act was judged of all the nobilitie to be unlawfull, 
unjust, and ungodly, to deprive a man beyng banished out of the realme without 
desart, of his inheritaunce. But Edraond Duke of Yorke, uncle to Henrie nowe 
lawfully Duke of Lancaster, was sore moved with this chaunce, to see the king 
breake and violate all lawes ; and after the murther of hys brother the Duke of 
Gloucester, to spoyle and robbe the sonne of his other brother. Eor he before 
this tyme, as much as his pacience could beare, dyd tolerate and suffer the death 
of his brother, the banishment of his nephew, and many mo injuryes, which for 
the lightnesse and youth of the king he passed over ; but nowe that he sawe there 
was no hope of amendment of the kinges governement, and that he had no man 
nere him that durst boldely admonishe him of his office and dutie, he therefore, 
as a wise man, thought it meete in tyme to get him to a restyng place, and to 
leave the folowyng of so doubtfull and wilfull a captaine ; wherefore he, with the 
Duke of Aumerle, his sonne, departed from the court, and went to his house at 
Langley. — Graf Ions Chronicle. 

' Oainst its, our lives, our children, and our heirs. 

Wives is substituted for lives in the Perkins MS., but the alteration is strongly 
opposed, if not absolutely forbidden, by a passage in Henry the Eifth, i. 2, — 
" That owe yourselves, your lives, and services, — To this imperial throne." 

As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what. 

Kynge Rycharde, thoroughe evyll counceyll, comraaundid by his letters unto 
the sheryffys of all sliyres, fewe exceptid, that all personys of havoure within theyr 
counties, as well spyrytuell as temporell, shuld make certeyn othes in generall 
wordis, and over that to wryte and scale certeyn bondys for perfourmaunce of the 
sayd othes ; and also for blanke chartours, whiche many men of substaunce were 
constraynyd to scale to theyr great charges, the people contynuelly murmuryd and 
grudgyd. — Fabyans Chronicle. 

Blanks were a mode of extortion, by which blanh papers were given to the 
agents of the crown, which they were to fill up as they pleased, to authorize the 
demands they chose to make. No wonder they were thought oppressive. 
Further explained by a passage respecting the same king, in the Mirror for 
Magistrates : 

Which to maintaine my people were sore pol'd 
With fines, fifteens, and loans by way of prest. 

Blank charters, oaths, and shifts not known of old, 
Eor which the commons did me sore detest. — Nares. 

Moreover, he compelled all the religious gentlemen and commons, to set their 
scales to blanckes, to the ende he might as it pleased him oppresse them severally, 
or all at once; some of the commons payde a thousande markes, some a thousande 
pounde, &c. — Stowe. 

Besides the ordinary tearmes of tenthes and fifteenths, which were many times 
paid double in one yeare, divers new impositions were by him devised and put in 
use ; somtimes exacting xij. d. of every person throughout the realme; sometimes 
of every religious man and woman vj. s. viij. d. and of every secular priest as 
much, and of every lay person married or sole, xij. d. Under the favourable 



toarme of heiicrolence, liec wiped away from the people sucli lieaps of money, as 
were little answerable to that free and friendly name. He borrowed in all places 
of the reahne great summes of money upon his privy scales, so that no man of 
worth cold escape his loane : but he seldome, and to fewe, returned payment 
againe. — llai/ ward's Life of Henrie the Fourth, 1599. 

And yet we strike not, but securehj perish. 

To strike the sails, is to contract them when there is too much wind. 
Nortiiumberland uses the word equivocally to mean we see our danger, and do not 
arm and strike the man who threatens. To strike the sails, as Dr. Johnson 
observes, is to contract them when there is too much wind. Compare Henry VI., 
Part 3, — " Tiian bear so low a sail, to strike to thee." 

We perish by too great confidence in our security. The word is used in the 
same sense in the Merry Wives of Windsor : " Though Page be a secure fool," 
&c. Again, in Troilusand Cressida, — " 'Tis done like Hector, but s^cwr<?/y done." 
— Malone. 

Thy icords are hit as thoughts ; therefore, be bold. 

Mr. Collier's MS. Corrector reads, " Thy words ai-e hit our thoughts,''' &c. — A 
writer in Blackwood's Magazine for Sept. 1853, p. 306, thus defends the old text : 
" Boss's argument with Northumberland to speak was not merely because his 
words were as their tiioughts. That was no doubt true ; but the point of his 
persuasion lay in the consideration that Northumberland's words would be as (jood 
as not spoken. ' We three are but yourself, and, in these circumstances, your 
Mords are but as thoughts — that is, you are as safe in uttering them as if you 
uttered them not, inasmuch as you will be merely speaking to yourself.' " — l^yce. 

The son and heir of th' Earl of Arundel. 

This line, not in the original, is taken from the corresponding passage in 
Holinshed, who has previously mentioned the same person in the following note, 
— "about the same time, the earle of Arundel's sonne, named Thomas, which was 
kept in the Duke of Exeter's house, escaped out of the realme by meanes of one 
William Scot, mercer, and went to his uncle, Thomas Arundell, late Archbishop 
of Canturburie, as then sojourning at Cullen." The archbishop was brother to 
the earl, not to the young lord, as the context might seem at first to imply. The 
Christian name of Ramston is wrongly printed John in the old copies, which have 
metamorphosed the two personages next mentioned into knights. In fact, there 
are so many blunders in this enumeration of persons, it is possible that Shake- 
speare left a space with the intention of referring to Holinshed, in order to 
complete what his memory, in the rapidity of composition, failed to suggest, and 
that the MS. was delivered to the theatre with the imperfection. In the third 
scene of the fifth act, a line of a rhyming couplet, found in the quarto editions, 
was omitted accidentally by the printer of the first folio. It is, therefore, possible 
that a line, like that here inserted, was passed over by the compositor. 

Thomas Eitz Alan, son of liichard Earl of Arundel, beheaded in 1397. His 
mother was Elizabeth, daughter of William de Bohun Earl of Northampton. He 
had been consigned to the care of the Duke of Exeter during his minority, and 
Avas kept at his castle of Ryegate, in Surrey, under the custody of Sir Jolm Shelly ; 
but he contrived to elude him by the assistance of one John Scot, and went over 
to Duke Henry in Erance. In 1 Hen. IV. the judgment of his father was 
reversed, and he was restored in blood. He was made Knight of the Bath at the 
coronation; and 6 Hen. IV. married Beatrix, illegitimate daughter of the King 
of Portugal. In 12 Hen. IV. he went with a force to the aid of the Duke of 



Burgundy against the duke of Orleans ; and in 1 Hen. V. was appointed Constable 
of Dover Castle, Warden of the Cinq-ports, and Lord Treasurer of England. He 
died October 13, 1415, without issue. — Webb. 

And whanne he hadde be there a litill tyme, ser Henri of Bolyngbroke, erl of 
Derby and duke of Hereforde, whom kyng Richard hadde exilid, heryng that his 
fader ser John of Gaunt, duke of Lancastre, was ded, cam doun out of Eraunce 
unto Caleys. And there mette with him maister Thomas Arundelle that was 
archebisshoppe of Cauntirbury, and the sone and heir of the erl of Arundelle, that 
was broke out of prison of the castelle of Eeygate ; and thay shippid at Caleys, 
and cam into Englond, and landid at Ravenesporne in the north cuntre. And 
there mette with thaym the erlle of Northumbirlond withe a gret power to helpe 
and socoure the said duke, that cam for non othir entent, as he saide, thanne 
for to chalange the duchie of Lancastre his enheritaunce. — The Brute Chronicle. 

This yere also Thomas, the son and heyre of the erle of Arundell, lately 
behedid, the which Thomas, not all to his pleasure, was kepte in the howse of the 
duke of Eccetyr, passyd the see by the meanys of one Wyllyam Scot, mercer, and 
yode unto his uncle the archebysshop of Cauntorbury, and so contynued with hym 
in the citie of Colayne than beynge. — Fabyafis Chronicle. 

As sooue as the duke was come into Brittaine, he waged certaine souldiers, and 
presently departed to Calice, and so committed to sea for England ; giving forth 
that the onely cause of his voyage was to recover the Duchie of Lanchaster, and 
the rest of his lawfull inheritance, which the King wrongfully deteyned from him. 
In this companie was Thomas Arundell the Archbishop of Canterbury, and 
Thomas the son and heire of Richard late Earle of Arundell, who was very yong, 
and had a little before escaped out of prison, and fled into Erance to the Duke. 
The residue of his attendants were very few, not exceeding the number of fifteen 
lances. — Hay ward's Life of Henrie the Fourth, 1599. 

Archbishop late of Canterbury. 

Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, brother to the Earl of Arundel 
who was beheaded in this reign, had been banished by the parliament, and was 
afterwards deprived by the Pope of his see, at the request of the king ; whence he 
is here called " late of Canterbury." — Steevens. 

John JVorbery, Eobert Waterton, and Francis Coint. 

Holinshed mentions these three as esquires, but, in the old copies of the play, 
the first two are erroneously mentioned as knights. The name of the last is spelt 
Coines in the early quartos, and Qiioint in the folios, the present orthography being 
adopted from Holinshed. 

Imp out our drooping country s broken icing. 

" To impe is a term most usual among falconers ; and is, when a feather in a 
hawkes wing is broken, and another piece imped or grafted on the stump of the 
old. — The word to imp is borrowed by the English ; first, surely, to graft trees, and 
thence translated to imping feathers," Blount's Ancient Tenures, 1679. There is 
a long and very curious chapter in Turbervile's Booke of Ealconrie on " The Way 
and Manner howe to ympe a Hawk's Eeather, how-soever it be broken or briiised," 
from which the following will be sufiicient to extract, — " Somtimes it so falleth 
out that the fethers of a hawks wing or train may be broken, whereupon it is both 
necessarie and needefull to set other like in their steades ; which feat wee tearme 
the ymping of a hawkes feather. This maybe done in foure severall manners and 
fashions after that the feather is broken. Eor first, in the greater and huger sort 
of hawkes, if a feather be broken one fingers breadth or thereabouts within the 



quill, then your next remedie is, to slieare it o(f with a payre of syssers or shearcs, 
to the end it may not cleave or rise any further. Then having prepared a like 
feather to the same of some other hawke or fowle, resembling the broken feaiiier ; 
you must cut the quill off it, and so force it together, as it may enter the broken 
quill of the hawkcs feather, annointing it before you thrust it in, or seeme to place 
it for good and all, in the gummie fatte of a figge, the yolke of an egge, or some 
kinde of semonde made of purpose, thrusting it very directly into the truncke and 
quill of the broken feather, and as wee may tearme it, graffing the one in the other. 
And to the ende it may have the better hold, and the faster stay, it shall not bee 
amisse to clynte or nayle them fast together with the point of a partridge feather, 
taking the very toppe of it, and stripping away the feathers on eyther side the 
webbe ; and after that, making a small hole with a slender needle, so as it passe 
through both the quilles, as wel that which sticketh fast in the hawkes wing, as 
the other borrowed and adopted feather, drawing through the hole made with the 
needle, the point of the partridges feather to fill up the hole againe. Which done, 
cut it off close by the webbe finely on eyther side, and so will it stand very hand- 
somely fast, and almost not to be discerned but to bee the hawkes naturall 
feather." Omitting the second method, the following account of the third and 
fourth may be thought interesting ; — " If a sarcell or other feathers be broken 
above the quill, towards the point of the feathers two or three fingers breadth, you 
must cut it off with a sharpe penknife a-slope, and, as they say, a-swash, and then 
take another like feather to the same, cutting it in like maner as you did the 
other, so as it may fit with the same feather both for length and cut. Which 
done, with an ymping needle layde in vinegar and salt, so close them together as 
they may bee thought to bee one feather. The last maner of ymping is, when a 
feather is not quite broken off, but bruised, and, as it were, but markt, so as it 
cannot be holpen and righted againe with warme water. In this case it shall be better 
rather to cut away the feathers, onely to cut away the nether part of the web, just 
over against the bruised place, leaving the upper part whole and untoucht ; then 
to take a long slender needle like a glovers needle, and to threed it, and having 
so done, to thrust the eye of the needle being threeded into the greater part of the 
feather towards the quill, forcing the point of it so hard with a thimble, as it may 
bee cleane hid in the feather, and no part of it to bee scene. After that, joyning 
both sides of the bruised feather together, where you cut the web, draw the threed 
as hard and as straight as you can possible, so as the point of the needle, by 
pulling off the threed that hangeth out, may so farre enter the upper part of the 
feather, as it may be halfe on the quill side, and the other halfe on the point of 
the bruised feather, which will strengthen the feathers marvailously. This done, 
cut off the threede which was for none other purpose put there, but to draw the 
point of the needle backe into the upper part of the feather." After this follows 
a chapter, — " how to ympe the traine of a hawke beeing all broken, and never a 
feather whole or sound." 

The term is of very common occurrence. " And then, with chaste discourse, as 
we return'd — Imp feathers to the broken wings of time," Massinger. " They will 
laugh as much, to see a swallow fly with a white feather imp'd in her tail," 
Brome. " His plumes only imp the muse's wings," Devil's Charter, 1607. So, 
in a very beautiful passage of Tomkis's Albumazar, — 

How slow the day slides on ! — when we desire 
Time's haste, he seems to lose a match with lobsters ; 
And, when we wish him stay, he imps his wings 
AVith feathers plumed with thought. 

Whereby thou seemest to blow the cole which thou wouldest quench, setting 



keene edge where thou desirest not to have a sharpe point, impining a father to 
make me flie, where thou oughtest rather to cut my wing for feare of soaring. 
• — Lilly s Euphues. 

If hee perceive any that by ripe judgement conceiteth his courses, with him 
he joineth as if he sought his only protection under the wing of his glory ; but the 
very truth is, he hath no other intent but this, to impe the wings of his renowne 
for feare he flie beyond him. — Lodges Wits Miserie, 1596. 

O no, my Lord ; it would make cowards feare 

To touch the reputations of full men, 

When only they are left to impe the law. — Bussy L'Ambois. 

Redeem from hrohing pawn the blemish'' d crown. 

Broking, that which has been in the hands of brokers or pawnbrokers. The 
expression occurs in the Workes of Taylor the Water-Poet, 1630, — 

And with a brazen brow canst justice brave. 
That steal'st thy pedegree from ancient houses, 
And jet'st in hroahing sattin every day ; 
That tak'st delight in stabbing and carowses, 
Not caring how thou let'st thy loose life stray. 

^ Windsor. 

This locality is correct for the present scene, as appears from Holinshed, who 
says that " the king departed toward Bristow, from thence to passe into Ireland, 
leaving the queene with hir traine still at Windesor." Isabella of Valois, then 
only eleven years of age, parted with Richard at A¥indsor church, the king having 
treated her with great deference and attention. The messenger, or servant, who 
appears in this scene, mentions having called at Flashy the same day, but this 
circumstance is not absolutely inconsistent with his appearance at Windsor in the 
afternoon or evening. 

*^ To lay aside life-harming heaviness. 

So in eds. 1597, 1598. The quartos 1608, and 1615 — /^aZ/v^-harming ; the 
folio — s^//-harming. This is a good specimen of the gradual progress of cor- 
ruption. The reviser of the folio, perceiving that half-harming, the corrupt 
reading of the copy of 1608, from which the folio copy appears to have been 
printed, aflPorded no sense, substituted, self-harming, a word that is not very 
distant from the other, without a thought of consulting the earliest printed copy. 
— Malone. 

With nothing trembles ; at something it grieves. 

The sense of the whole is, my inward soul trembles without the least cause, or 
reason, which my imagination can suggest to me, indeed trembles at what is 
nothing ; yet at the same time I feel I grieve for something, whatever it be, to 
me quite unknown, beyond what I should otherwise do for the bare absence of the 
king. — Heath. 

Warburton does not appear to have understood this passage, nor Johnson 
either. Through the whole of this scene, till the arrival of Green, the Queen is 
describing to Bushy a certain unaccountable despondency of mind, and a fore- 
boding apprehension which she felt of some unforeseen calamity : she says, " that 
her inward soul trembles without any apparent cause and grieves at something more 
than the King's departure, though she knows not what;" he endeavours to 
persuade her that it is merely the consequence of her sorrow for the King's 
absence; she says it may be so, but her soul tells her otherwise. He then tells 



her it is only conceit ; but she is not satisfied with that way of accounting for it, 
as she says that conceit is still derived from some fore-father grief, but what she 
feels was begot by nothing ; that is, had no preceding cause. Conceit is here 
used in the same sense that it is in Hamlet, when the king says that Ophelia's 
madness was occasioned by conceit upon her father. — Mason. 

In an old annotated copy of the second folio, this line is altered as follows, — 
" With nothing trembles, yet at something grieves." 

^ LiJce perspectives, which, rightly gazd ^lpon. 

" Like prospectives which show things inwards when they are but paintings,'' 
Bacon's Natural History, i. 98. This is a fine similitude, and the thing meant is 
this. Amongst mathematical recreations, there is one in optics, in which a figure 
is drawn, wherein all the rules of perspective are inverted : so that, if held in the 
same position with those pictures which are drawn according to the rules of 
perspective, it can present nothing but confusion : and to be seen in form, and 
under a regular appearance, it must be looked upon from a contrary station ; or, 
as Shakespeare says, " ey'd awry." — TFarhirton. 

Dr. Plot, in his History of Staffordshire, p. 391, explains this perspective, or 
odd kind of " pictures upon an indented board, which, if beheld directly, you only 
perceive a confused piece of work ; but, if obliquely, you see the intended person's 
picture ;" which, he was told, was made thus : " The board being indented, or 
fun'owed with a plough-plane, the print or painting was cut into parallel pieces 
equal to the depth and number of the indentures on the board, and they were 
pasted on the flats that strike the eye holding it obliquely, so that the edges of 
the parallel pieces of the print or painting exactly joining on the edges of the 
indentures, the work was done." — Toilet. 

The following short poem would almost persuade one that the words rightly 
and aicry (perhaps originally written — aright and wryly,) had exchanged 
places in the text of our author : — Lines by Ben Jonson prefixed to Melancholike 
Humours, in Verses of Diverse Natures, set down by Nich. Breton, Gent. 1 600 : 
In Authorem. — 

That thou wouldst finde the habit of true passion 

And see a minde attir'd in perfect straines ; 
Not wearing moodes, as gallants doe a fashion 

In these pide times, only to shewe their braines ; 
Looke here on Breton's worke, the master print, 

Where such perfections to the life doe rise : 
If they seeme wry, to such as looke asquint. 

The fault's not in the object, but their eyes. 
For, as one comming with a laterall viewe 

Unto a cunning piece-wrought perspective. 
Wants facultie to make a censure true : 
So with this author's readers will it thrive : 
Which, being eyed directly, I divine. 
His proofe their praise will meete, as in this line. — Steevens. 
So, in Hentzner, 1598, Boyal Palace, Whitehall : "Edwardi VI. Angliae regis 
effigies, primo intuitu monstrosum quid reprsesentans, sed si quis effigiem recta 
intueatur, turn vera deprsehenditur." — Farmer. 

The perspectives here mentioned, were not pictures, but round chrystal glasses, 
the convex surface of which was cut into faces, like those of the rose diamond ; 
the concave left uniformly smooth. These chrystals — which were sometimes 
mounted on tortoise-shell box-lids, and sometimes fixed into ivory cases — if placed 
as here represented, would exhibit the different appearances described by the poet. 



The word shadoips is here used, in opposition to substance, for reflected images, 
and not as the dark forms of bodies, occasioned by their interception of the light 
that falls upon them. — Henley. 

It may have reference to that kind of optical delusion called anamorphosis ; 
which is a perspective projection of a picture, so that at one point of view it shall 
appear a confused mass, or different to what it really is, in another, an exact and 
regular representation. Sometimes it is made to appear confused to the naked 
eye, and regular when viewed in a glass or mirror of a certain form. " A picture 
of a chancellor of France, presented to the common beholder a multitude of little 
faces ; but if one did look at it through a perspective, there appeared only the 
single pourtraiture of the chancellor," Humane Industry, 1651. This is again 
alluded to in Tvvelfth Night, " A natural perspective, that is, and is not." Thus 
also in Henry V : — " My lord, you see them perspectively , the cities turned into a 
maid." Thus Hobbes, in his Answer to Davenant's Preface to Gondibert : — 
" You have seen a curious kinde of perspective, where, he that looks through a 
short hollow pipe upon a picture containing divers figures, sees none of those that 
are painted, but some one person made up of their parts, conveyed to the eye by 
the artificial cutting of a glass." — Singer. 

I confess, I do not understand our poet here ; nor know perfectly whether 
he means looking through a perspective glass, or looking at a piece of painting in 
perspective, possibly something like the child's toy, by which a building, delineated 
upon a horizontal surface, in a distorted form, is made to appear correct, when the 
eye is fitted at a certain point, might be what was referred to. — Anon. 

As, — though, on thinking, on no thought I think. 

The more recent editors read, with Johnson, " As, — though, in thinJcing, on 
no," &c., — an alteration hardly necessary. — Mr. Collier's MS. Corrector gives 
" As, — though, unthinking, on no," &c., — which is manifestly wrong. I once 
suspected that the proper punctuation of the line might be, — " As, — though, on 
thinking on, no thought I think," &c. — Byce. 

The quarto of 1597 has the line, — " As thought on thinking on no thought I 
think," which the 4to, 1598, alters to — "As though on thinking on no thought I 
think," — which was followed in all the later impressions, quarto and folio ; but it 
seems necessary, with Johnson, to make a farther alteration of on to in, the 
meaning being, that the queen in reflecting can fix her thought upon nothing, 
though, musing, I have no distinct idea of calamity, — Collier. 

It is not necessary to write " in thinking," for, " on thinking" means thinking 
on. The poor queen is not " unthinking," but thinks too much — her grief made 
her think, but she had no definite thought. A modern French writer, speaking 
of the effects of the English climate, says, " you are thoughtful without thinking." 
— Knight. 

Or something hath the nothing that I grieve. 

I grieve for something or for nothing ; if for a reality, that reality is the 
offspring of nothing : or if for nothing, that nothing, that unsubstantial effect 
proceeds from some potent existing cause. Whether the cause of this my pre- 
mature concern be real or imaginary, it can never be properly ascribed to conceit, 
whose constant basis is some past occurrence. 

The meaning seems to be, that either nothing hath begotten the Queen's grief, 
or there really is something in the nothing that she grieves about. " Conceit," 
of course, here is to be understood as conception. — Collier. 

The Queen's reasoning, as it now stands, is this ; my trouhle is not conceit, for 
conceit is still derived from some antecedent cause, some fore-father grief ; but 
IX. 15 



witli me tlie case is, that " either my real grief hath no real cause, or some real 
cause has produced a fancied grief." That is, " my grief is not conceit, because 
it cither has not a cause hke conceit, or it has a cause like conceit." This can 
hardly stand. Let us try again, and read thus : — 

Eor nothing hath begot my something grief ; 
Kot something hath the nothing that I grieve : 

That is, " my grief is not conceit ; conceit is an imaginary uneasiness from 
some past occurrence." But, on the contrary, here is " real grief witliout a real 
cause ; not a real cause ^vith a fanciful sorrow." This, I think, must be the 
meaning; harsh at the best, yet better than contradiction or absurdity. — 

^ ^Tis in reversion that I do possess. 

I am about to propose an interpretation which many will think harsh, and 
which I do not oflPer for certain. To possess a man, in Shakespeare, is to inform 
him fully, to mal'e him comprehend. To be possessed, is to be fully ii formed. Of 
this sense the examples are numerous. I therefore imagine the Queen says thus ; 
— " 'Tis in reversion — that I do possess ; — " The event is yet in futurity — that I 
know with full conviction — but what it is, that is not yet known. In any other 
interpretation she must say that she possesses what is not yet come, which, though 
it may be allowed to be poetical and figurative language, is yet, I think, less 
natural than my explanation. — Johnson. 

As the grief the Queen felt was for some event which had not yet come to 
pass, or at least not yet come to her knowledge, she expresses this by saying that 
the grief which she then actually possessed was still in reversion, as she had no 
right to feel the grief until the event should happen which was to occasion it ; 
what I thus severely anticipate is yet in embryo. — Ifason. 

That is not the conjunction, but the pronoun, and the meaning, that which 
now occupies my thoughts is something that is to happen hereafter, but what that 
is, is yet a secret ; I cannot name it, but I fear it is nameless woe. — Sei/mour. 

Might have retird his poicer. 

To retire, w'hen a verb neuter, is also a common word ; not so, when it is a 
verb active, and means to fetch or draic bade, in the same sense as the French use 
their word nV/m*. — Warner. "Alas! I feare my strangenesse will retire him," 
Bussy d'Ambois. " Each one, by him enforc'd, retires his w^ard," Rape of 

*® And all the rest of the revolted faction. 

So in ed. 1598 and in some copies of ed. 1597, others omitting the words, of 
the. "And the rest of the revolting id.oXiQw^'' eds. 1608, 1615, followed in the 
later copies in the omission of all, but the older reading revolted being there 

^ And BolingbroJce my sorrow'' s dismal heir. 

The author seems to have used heir in an improper sense, an heir being one 
that inherits by succession, is here put for one that succeeds, though he succeeds 
but in order of time, not in order of descent. — Johnson. 

Johnson has mistaken the meaning of this passage also. The Queen does not 
in any way allude to Bolingbroke's succession to the crown, an event, of which 
she could at that time have had no idea. She had said before, that " some unborn 
sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, was coming towards her." She talks afterwards 
of her unknown griefs " being begotten ;" she calls Green " the midwife of her 



woe;" and then means to say, in the same metaphorical jargon, that the arrival of 
Eolingbroke was the dismal offspring that her foreboding sorrow was big of; 
which she expresses by calling him her " sorrow's dismal heir," and explains more 
fidly and intelligibly in the following line : — " Now hath my soul brought forth 
her prodigy." — M. Mason. 

^° The commons tliey are cold. 

The duke of York that was lieutenaunt of Engelond wolde have gon ayens 
thayme, but no man wolde folowe him; and ser Wilham Scroope, tresorer of 
Englond, offrid men wonder large wagez, but he coude no man have, for no 
money. — Chronicle^ MS. 

With my hrother's. 

None of York's brothers were literally beheaded, but the allusion here is no 
doubt to the Duke of Gloucester, who, according to Holinshed, was secretly 
murdered by the king's express order. 

What, are there no posts dispatched for Ireland ? 

This line furnishes another specimen of the progress of corruption. In the 
second quarto, 1598, no being corrupted into two, the line appeared thus : — 
"What, are there two posts dispatch'd for Ireland?" — and so it was exhibited in 
the quarto of 1608, and in that of 1615. The corrector of the press, by whom 
the sheets of the folio, 1623, were revised while they were printing, meeting with 
what doubtless appears very absurd, instead of looking out for the oldest copy, cut 
the knot, instead of attempting to untie it, and left out the substituted word two ; 
and thus the verse became quite different from what the poet intended. — " "What, 
are there posts dispatch'd for Ireland?" — Malone. 

And meet me presently at Berhley Castle. 

The word Castle is omitted in the early quarto editions. Shakespeare seems 
to have designedly neglected the metre in this speech, perhaps to mark more 
strongly the perturbation of the speaker's mind. Eolingbroke and others, in the 
next scene, mention Berkley. — Malone. 

And every thing is left at six and seven. 

The Deity is mentioned in the Towneley Mysteries, pp. 97, 118, as He that 
" sett alle on seven," i. e., set or appointed everything in seven days. A similar 
phrase at p. 85 is not so evident. It is explained in the glossary, " to set things 
in, to put them in order," but it evidently implies in some cases an exactly opposite 
meaning, to set in confusion, to rush to battle, as in the following examples. " Ih 
set the Steven, to agree upon tlie time and place of meeting previous to some 
expedition," West, and Cumb. Dial., p. 390. These phrases may be connected 
with each other. Be this as it may, hence is certainly derived the phrase to he at 
sixes and sevens, to be in great confusion. Herod, in his anger at the AVise Men, 

Bot be thay past me by, by Mahowne in heven, 
I shalle, and that in hy, set alle on sex and seven ; 
Trow ye a kyng as I wyll suffre thaym to neven 
Any to have mastry bot myself fulle even. 

Toimeley Mysteries, p. 143. 

Thus he settez on sevene with his sekyre knyghttez. — Morte Arthure, MS. 
Lincoln, f, 76. 

The duk swore by gret God of hevene. 
Wold my hors so evene, 



3et wold / sett all one seven 

fFor Myldor the swct! — Degrevant, 1279. 

Some lay to £>'ct riches, by sea and by land, 

And vent'rcth his life, in his enemies hand ; 

And settcth his soul tijwn six or on seven. 

Not caring nor fearing, for hell nor for heaven. — Tusser. 

Old Odcomb's odnesse makes not thee uneven, 
Nor carelesly set all at siv and seven. 
Thy person's odde, unparaleld, unmatchd, 
But yet thy action's to the person patch'd. 

The JForkes of Taylor tJie Water-Toet, 1630. 

" AVho sett'st the world at six and sev'n," Nedham's English Kebellion, 1661. 
" And not leave things at sixes and at seven," Win Her and Take Her, 
1691. "And leave his estate at six's and sevens," Country Gentleman's Yade 
Mecum, 1699. 

/'// to Ireland to Ids majesty. 

This is true to history. While the duke was wreaking his vengeance upon 
the other lieutenants of the king, Bagot made his escape to Chester, and thence to 
Ireland. He was afterwards apprehended, sent to Newgate, and brought for 
examination before the parliament ; but acquitted in the next session. The MS. 
Ambassades affirms that Scroope, chancellor of the Exchequer, carried the news to 
Ireland; which is unquestionably wrong. — WeM. 

They remayned sixe weekes at Duvelin, and heard no newes out of Englande, 
the passage was so dangerous, the winde beeing contrary, and tempestes so greate, 
at length, came a shippe with heavie newes, how the Duke of Hereforde, and now 
by the deceasse of his father Duke of Lancaster, was arrived in England at 
Bavenspore beside Wadhngton, in Yorkeshire, and had beheaded William Scrope 
Earle of Wilshire, treasourer of Englande, John Bushy, Henry Greene, and other, 
and had caused Thomas Arundell, Archbishop of Canterbury, to preach agaiuste 
King Bicharde, who also shewed a Bull procured from Bome, promising remission 
of sinnes to all those whiche should ayde the sayde Henry, in conquering of his 
enimies, and after their death, to be placed in Baradise, which preaching moved 
manye to cleave to the Duke. — Stowe. 

These high icild hills, and rough uneven ways. 

This is probably said in reference to the country they had just travelled through, 
as it can hardly refer to the locality where this dialogue takes place, which is in 
the immediate neighbourhood of Berkeley castle. Holinshed, speaking of 
Bolingbroke, says, — " from Doncaster, having now got a mightie armie about him, 
he marched foorth with all speed through the countries, comming by Evesham 
unto Berkelie." He would thus most likely have travelled from Evesham to 
Gloucester, passing in his way over the Cotswold liiUs ; but there are the insig- 
nificant Tortworth and Stinchcomb hills near Berkeley, from which the castle may 
be seen. It is situated, comparatively speaking, in a hollow, and is with difficulty 
seen even from those hills. 

And yet your fair discourse. 

Tonr in the early quarto editions, our in the folio. By the whole tenour of 
Northumberland's speech here, it is plain that he is in no part paying any 
compliment to his own discourse, but to the pleasures and advantages which he 
deriv'd from the society and conversation of Bolingbroke, which sweeten'd and 
made short the fatigue of a very rough road. — Theobald. I conceive there can 


be but little entertainment in a conversation in which the hearer bears no part. 
" Our fair discourse," signifies, the discourse that hath past between us. — Eeath. 

Boss and Willoughhi/. 

And thus by this meanes the Duke landed about the feast of Saint Martin, 
without let or resistance, at Ravenspur in Houldernesse, as most writers affirme. 
Presently after his arrival, there resorted to him Lord Henry Pearcie Earle of 
Northumberland, and Lord Henry his son Earle of Westmerland, Lorde Radulph 
Nevill, Lorde Eose, Lord Willoughby, and many other personages of honor, whose 
company encreased reputation to the cause, and was a great countenance and 
strength to the Dukes further purposes. — Hayward's Life of Henrie the Fourth, 

And hope to joy, is little less in joy. 

joy is here used as a verb; it is equivalent with to rejoice. " To joy, to 
clap hands, to rejoyce," Baret. " Which for his sake, 1 joy is not prov'd mortall," 
Bride, a Comedie, 4to, Lond. 1640. Shakespeare also uses it as a verb in several 
other instances. So, in the second act of this play : " Poor fellow never joy'd 
since the price of oats rose." Again, in King Henry V : — " I do at this hour /oy 
o'er myself." Again, in K. Henry YI. : — " Was ever king that joy'd on earthly 

throne ." If joy be understood as a substantive, the common reading is 

scarcely English. We might read : — " And hope of joy." — Malone. 

^° Estimate. 

That is, estimation, value. " They are of farre more estimate and price," 
Taylor's Workes, 1630. In eds. 1608, 1615, estimate is altered to estimation. 

My lord, my ansicer is — to Lancaster. 

As this line is printed, the sense is obscure. It would be clearer thus : — " My 

lord, my answer is to Lancaster." Your message, you say, is to my lord of 

Hereford. My answer is — It is not to him ; it is to the duke of Lancaster. — 

My lord of Hereford, says Berkeley, I have a message for you. My lord, says 
Bolingbroke, I answer to no name but Lancaster; — 

And I must find that title in your tongue 
Before I make reply to aught you say. — Eitson. 

To raze one title of your honour out. 

" How the names of them which for capital crimes against majestic were 
erazed out of the publicke records, tables, and registers, or forbidden to be borne 
by their posteritie, when their memorie was damned, I could show at large," 
Camden's Bemains, p. 136, edit. 1605. — Malone. 

" The painful warrior, once foil'd, is from the book of honour razed quite," 
Sonnets. Surely it should be, tittle. The most important distinction that could 
belong to Bolingbroke, and what he was now peculiarly asserting would never be 
called by one who disclaims all intention of offence, by the slight and general term, 
" a title," or one " title." The sense is clearly : " I mean not to efface or obscure 
the slightest circumstance belonging to your honour or dignity." Besides, 
what sense can be annexed to " a title," or " one title," of your honour ? — 

From the most gracious regent of this land. 
Thus the first quarto, 1597. The word regent was accidentally omitted in the 



quarto, 1598, which was followed by all the subsequent copies. — Malone. In the 
same edition gracious is altered to glorious. 

To tahe advantage of the absent time. 

That is, of the time when the king is absent. " I would read King. I know 
it is a very common expression, you have 'watclied your time for such a thing ; but 
sure, it is a strange figure to call the time absent^ on account of the king's 
absence," Theobald. 

Grace me no grace, nor imcle me no uncle. 

The two last words, no uncle, are omitted in the folio editions, and in ed. 
1G34. In Romeo and Juliet, we have the same kind of phraseology: — " Thank 
me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds." Again, in Microconicon, Six snarling 
Satires, &c. by Thomas Middleton, 16mo. 1599 : — '■''Homer me no howers ; howers 
break no square." Again, in Solyman and Perseda, 1599 : — " Basilis. What 
would'st thou have me, a Typhon ? — Piston. Typhon me no Typhous, but swear," 
&c. Again, in Love's Owle, a poem by Antony Copley, 4to. 1595: — "And so 
joy mightely over all. — Old Man. All me no alls, for all is nought." Again, in 
King Edward 1. by George Peele, 1593: — Friars. Hands ofiP, an if you love 
your ease. — Bice. Ease me no casings," &c. — Malone. 

Cond. Are tliei all gone ? Ha, ha, well fare old Shift at a neede : 
By his woundes had I not devised this, I had hanged indeed. 
Tinkers, (quod you) tinJce me no Unites ; I'll meddle with them no more ; 
I thinke was never knave so used by a companie of tinkers before. 

The Comedy of Common Conditions, circa 1570. 

But, then, more why. 

That is, — " But then more why ;" but, to add more questions. This is the 
reading of the first quarto, 1597, which in the second, and all the subsequent 
copies, was corrupted thus : " But more than why." The expression of the text, 
though a singular one, was, I have no doubt, the author's. It is of a colour with 
those immediately preceding ; — " Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncled 
An innovation which shows how very soon Shakespeare's peculiarities were not 
understood, and how ready the persons through whose hands they passed, were to 
substitute their own capricious notions in their room. A similar expression occurs 
in Twelfth Night:— 

More than I love these eyes, more than my life. 

More, by all mores, than I shall e'er love wife. — Malone. 

I once thought that this reading of the first quarto ought to be retained — 
more question still ; but this cannot well be admitted, unless many questions or 
u:hys had been asked already. I am, therefore, inclined to believe, that the text, 
as it appears in the second quarto, is right; — "But more than why." More than 
the mere answer to this question, with an interest more deep than belongs to the 
question itself. — Seymour. 

I believe Pope hath given us the true reading, — " But more then, why, 
why have they dar'd to march ?" that is, after having asked you this question, 
much more then may I ask you this other. — Heath. 

^'^ And ostentation of despised arms. 

"Warburton, in opposition to the common reading, despised arms, assures us 
that such " arms would not fright any one." This is not quite so certain, but 
admit it; yet notwithstanding, the arms despised by the Duke of York, the King's 
vicegerent, and who is the speaker here, might very reasonably fright the pale- 



faced villages. Despised in this place, signifies no more than, which I despise. — 

" Despoiling arms," is the reading recommended by the margins. " Displayed 
arms" is the right expression, according to Singer. But surely no emendation is 
required. The ostentation of despised arms was quite sufficient to frighten the 
harmless villagers ; and this is all that Shakespeare says it did. And then it is 
in the highest degree appropriate and consistent that York should give his nephew 
to understand that his arms or forces were utterly despicable in the estimation of 
all loyal subjects, of all honourable and right-thinking men. Hence his words 
mean — alarming with war only pale-faced villagers, who never smelt the 
sulphurous breeze of battle, and making a vain parade of arms which all true 
soldiers must despise. — Anon. 

Perhaps Shakespeare here uses despised for hated or hateful arms ? Sir 
Thomas Hanmer changed it to despiteful, and Warburton to disposed, but the old 
copies all agree in reading despised. Shakespeare uses the word again in a 
singular sense in Othello, where Brabantio exclaims upon the loss of his daughter. 
It has been suggested that " despised is used to denote the general contempt in 
which the British held the Erench forces. The duke of Bretagne furnished 
Bolingbroke with three thousand French soldiers." — Singer. 

Look on my ivrongs with an indifferent ege. 

Indifferent is impartial. The instances of this use of the word among the 
poet's contemporaries are very numerous. See Baret's Alvearie, in letter I, 108, 
where he translates, ^'Aequus judex, a just and indifferent judge ; nothing partial." 
" Every juryman," says Sir Edward Coke, " ought to be impartial and indifferent.'" 
— Malone. 

Being indifferent^ we should receive and embrace opinions according as 
evidence gives the attestation of truth. — Loche. 

But the man said, how shall he that is a robber, and lives by blood, judge the 
cause ; it must not be one but divers, and such as know both law and equity, that 
must judg this contention ; the raven is neither just nor indifferent. — Reynard the 
Fox, 1701. 

To rouse his icrongs, and chase them to the hay. 

Here too the sense hath probably been sacrificed to a mistaken concern for 
the metre. What reasonable or consistent idea can be suggested to us by this 
expression, rousing and chasing wrongs ? The metaphor is evidently taken from 
stag-hunting, but hath no meaning, applied, as it is here, to icrongs. I am 
persuaded therefore we should read, — icrongers, nor is the truth of the metre 
injured by this alteration; only an anapaest takes the place of an iambic. — 

By "his wrongs," are meant "the persons who wrong him." This ex- 
planation is supported by a passage in Fletcher's Double Marriage, where Juliana 
says — 

"With all my youth and pleasure I'll embrace you, 

Make tyranny and death stand stiU, affrighted, 

And, at our meeting souls, amaze our mischiefs. — 3£. Mason. 

"We have in tcrongs the same figure that has been elsewhere observ'd upon, 
for it's sense is, wrongers ; the line's metaphor is from stag-hunting, as appears 
from the word it ends with ; chases of that sort concluding mostly with a standing 
at bay. — Capell. 



""^ It stands your grace upon, to do Mm right. 

That is, it is incumbent, literally, it rests on your grace. So, in Baret's 
Alvcarie, 1580, — " The heyre is bound; the heyre ought, or it is the heyre's part 
to defend ; it standeth him iipon ; or is in his charge. Incumhit defensio mortis 
h(vredi." The phrase is therefore equivalent to, it is incumhcnt upon your grace. 
Sliakspeare uses it again in King Eichard the Third and in Antony and 
Cleopatra. Sir N. Throckmorton, writing to Queen Elizabeth, says, " Howsoever 
things do fall out, it standeth your majestic so iippon, for your own suretie and 
reputation, to be well ware." Likewise in Hooker's Answer to Travers, " The 
weightier the cause, the more it stood him npon to take good heed that nothing 
were rashly done or spoken in it." — Singer. 

""^ The noble duke hath sworn. 

We will not say nor thinke, 0 Lancaster, 

But that thou then didst meane as thou didst swere 

Upon th' Evangelists at Doncaster, 

In th' eie of heaven, and that assembly there, 

That thou but as an upright orderer 

Sought'st to reforme th' abused kingdonie here, 

And get thy right, and what was thine before. 

And this was all, thou would'st attempt no more. 

Daniel's Civil Wars of England, 1599. 

'^^ JVor friends, nor foes. 

The Duke of Yorke either amazed at this sodain change, or fearing his adven- 
ture if he should proceed in resistance, gave over the cause, and preferred present 
security, before duty with daunger ; giving most men occasion to misdeeme by his 
dealing, that he secretly favoured the dukes enterprise ; likewise all the other 
counsailers of that side either openly declared for the duke or secretly wished him 
well ; and abandoning all private direction and advise, adjoined themselves to 
the common course, presuming thereby of greater safety. — Hayward's Life of 
Eenrie the Fourth, 1599. 

'''^ A camp near Conway. 

" The Earle, passing over into Wales, landed at Conwaie," Holinshed. " It 
came to pass that the earl landed at Conway ; I assure you, it was the strongest 
and fairest town in Wales," Creton's contemporary narrative. The latter author 
speaks in another place of Conway as a town " where the houses are covered with 
tiles." The fortifications of Conway are of immense strength, and may still last 
for centuries. 

Enter Salisbury. 

Sir John de Montacute, Baron Montacute and Monthermer, third Earl of 
Salisbury. He was Marshal of England for a short time, during the absence of 
the Duke of Surrey in Ireland. He was beheaded in the year 1400. 

"'^ My lord of Salisbury. 

Here is a scene so unartfully and irregularly thrust into an improper place, 
that I cannot but suspect it accidentally transposed ; which, when the scenes were 
written on single pages, might easily happen in the wildness of Shakespeare's 
drama. This dialogue was, in the author's draught, probably the second scene in 
the ensuing act, and there I would advise the reader to insert it, though I have 
not ventured on so bold a change. My conjecture is not so presumptuous as may 
be thought. The play was not, in Shakespeare's time, broken into Acts ; the 



editions published before his death, exhibit only a sequence of scenes from the 
beginning to the end, without any hint of a pause of action. In a drama so desul- 
tory and erratic, left in such a state, transpositions might easily be made. — 
Johnson. In the play, as acted early in the last century, this scene was omitted, 
the second act terminating at the conclusion of the preceding scene. 

' Tis thought, the Icing is dead. 

The present scene is in conformity with the real events of history. The 
following interesting account of the desertion of the "Welsh, and the causes which 
led to it, are thus related by Creton, — " I am certain that forty thousand were 
trained and mustered in the field within four days, every one eager to fight with 
all who wished ill to the ever preux and valiant King Richard. Then the earl, 
who endured great pain and trouble, went to them all, and declared to them with 
a solemn oath, that before three days were ended, he would so straiten the duke 
and his people, that for this time they should advance no farther to waste the land. 
Soon after he found the whole of his friends assembled together in the field ; he 
spake to them well-advisedly, — " My good gentlemen, let us all make haste to 
avenge King Richard in his absence, that he may be satisfied with us for the time to 
come ; for mine own part I purpose neither to stop nor to take rest, till such time 
as I shall have made my attempt upon those who are so traitorous and cruel 
towards him. Let us go hence, and march directly towards them. God will help 
us, if we are diligent in assaulting them ; for, according to our law, it is the duty 
of every one in many cases to support the right until death." — When the Welsh- 
men understood that the king was not there, they were all sorrowful, murmuring 
to one another in great companies, full of alarm, thinking that the king was dead 
of grief, and dreading the horrible and great severity of the duke of Lancaster and 
his people. They were not well satisfied with the earl, saying, — " Sir, be assured 
that for the present we will advance no farther, since the king is not here ; and 
do you know wherefore ? Behold the duke is subduing every thing to himself, 
which is a great terror and trouble to us ; for indeed we think that the king is 
dead, since he is not arrived with you at the port; were he here, right or wrong, 
each of us would be eager to assail his enemies ; but now we will not go with you." 
The earl at this was so wrath at heart, that he had almost gone out of his senses 
with vexation ; he shed tears. It was a great pity to see how he was treated. 
" Alas !" said he, " what shame befalleth me this day ! O death ! come unto me 
without delay ; put an end to me ; I loath my destiny. Alas ! now will the king- 
suppose that I have devised treason." — While thus he mourned, he said, " My 
comrades, as you hope for mercy, come with me, I beseech you ; so shall we be 
champions for King Richard, who within four days and a half will be here ; for 
he told me, when I quitted Ireland, that he would upon his life embark before the 
week was ended. Sirs, I pray you let us hasten to depart." It availed nothing : 
they stood all mournfully, like men afraid ; a great part of them were disposed to 
betake themselves to the duke, for fear of death. But the earl kept them in the 
field fourteen days, expecting the coming of King Richard. " Many a time," 
said the good earl apart, " small portion will you have of England, in my opinion, 
my rightful lord, since you delay so long. What can this mean ? certes, I believe 
you are betrayed, since I hear no true tidings of you in word or deed. Alas ! I 
see these people are troubled with fear, lest the duke should hem them in. They 
are but common ignorant people. They will desert me." So said the good earl 
to himself in the field ; while he was serving with those who in a little time all 
abandoned him ; some went their way straight to tlie duke, and the rest returned 
into Wales; so they left the earl encamped with none but his own men, who did 
IX. 16 


not, I think, amount to an hundred. He lamented it greatly, saying, in a 
sorrowful manner, " Let us make our retreat ; for our enterprise goeth on very 
badly." Thus doth the earl make little account of his life ; for he seeth well that 
he hath neither death nor good report ; the people of the duke stir up so mucli 
vexation in his heart. The enemy advanced without farther delay, for they had 
been told that the earl had gathered his troops to come to the point against them. 
The duke was glad of it ; he desired nothing so much as to combat all those who 
would defend or wait for King Eichard. He made his way, as straight as he could 
take it, towards the earl, who withdrew himself to Conway, full of grief, sadness, 
and dismay." 

'''' The hay-trees m our country are all loitlierd. 

Some of these prodigies are found in Holinshed : " In this yeare in a manner 
throughout all the realme of England, old laie trees wither'd," &c. This was 
esteemed a bad omen ; for, as I learn from Thomas Lupton's Syxt Booke of 
Notable Thinges, " Neyther falling sycknes, neyther devyll, wyll infest or hurt 
one in that place whereas a hay tree is. The Romaynes calles it the plant of the 
good angell," &c. — Steevens. 

Evelin says, " Amongst other things, it has of old been observed that the hay 
is ominous of some funest accident, if that be so accounted which Suetonius 
afiirms to have happened before the death of the monster Nero, when these trees 
generally withered to the very roots in a very mild winter : and much later ; that 
in the year 1629, when at Padua, preceding a great pestilence, almost all the hay 
trees about that famous university grew sick and perished. — Beed. 

This yeare the lawrell trees withered almost throughout the realme, and after- 
wardes, against all expectation, recovered life and flourished againe. The same 
yeare in Christmasse holy-dayes a deepe river which runneth betweene Snedlistorie 
and Hareswood, neere to Bedford, suddainely stayed the streame : so that for three 
miles in length, the channell was left drie, and no course of water did hinder 
passage on foot. This was afterwards interpreted to presage the revolt of the 
people, and the division which happened the yeare following ; to these we may adde 
certaine other prodegies either forged in that fabulous age, or happening commonly 
and of course, are then onely noted, when any notable accident doth ensue. — 
Hayward's Life and Raigne of King Uenrie the Fourth, 1599. 

'^^ And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven. 

Bed fiery dragons in the air do fly. 
And burning meteors, pointed streaming lights ; 
Bright stars in midst of day appear in sky. 
Prodigious monsters, ghastly fearful sights ; 
Strange ghosts and apparitions terrify. — Daniel. 

SCENE I. — Bolingbroke's camp near Bristol Castle. 

Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Percy, 
WiLLOUGHBY, Ross : Officers behind, with Bushy and Green, 


Baling . Bring forth these men. — 
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls 
(Since presently your souls must part your bodies) 
With too much urging your pernicious lives. 
For 'twere no charity ; yet, to wash your blood 
From off my hands, here, in the view of men, 
I will unfold some causes of your deaths. 
You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments. 
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean 
You have in manner with your sinful hours 
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him ; 
Broke the possession of a royal bed,^ 
And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. 
Myself, — a prince by fortune of my birth, 
Near to the king in blood, and near in love 
Till you did make him misinterpret me, — 
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, 

RICHARD THE SECOND. [act iii. sc. ii. 

And sigli'd niy English breath in foreign clouds, 

Eatintr the bitter bread of banishment ; 

Whilst you have fed upon my signories, 

Dispark'd my parks,^ and fell'd my forest-woods, 

From mine own windows torn my household eoat,'^ 

Raz'd out my impress,^ leaving me no sign, 

Save men's opinions and my living blood, 

To show the world I am a gentleman. 

This, and mueh more, much more than twice all this. 

Condemns you to the death. — See them deliver'd over 

To execution and tlie hand of death. ^ 

Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me 
Than Bolingbroke to England. — Lords, farewell. 

Green. !My comfort is, that heaven will take our souls. 
And plague injustice with the pains of hell. 

BoUny. ^ly Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd. 

[^Exeunt Northumberland and others, icith prisoners. 
Uncle, you say the queen is at your house ; 
For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated : 
Tell her I send to her my kind commends : 
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 

York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd 
With letters of your love to her at large. 

Bolhiy. Thanks, gentle uncle. — Come, lords, away. 
To fight with Glendower and his complices :^ 
Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt. 

SCENE \l.—The Coast of Wales. A Castle in vieiv. 

Flourish; drums and trumpets. Enter King Richard, the 
Bishop of Carlisle, Au merle, and Soldiers. 

K. Rich. Barkloughly-castle^ call they this at hand ? 

Au7n. Yea, my lord.^ — How brooks your grace the air, 
After your late tossing on the breaking seas ?^'^ 

K. Rich. Needs must I like it well : I weep for joy 
Tostand upon my kingdom once again. — 
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand. 
Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs 



As a long parted mother with her child 

Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,^'^ 

So, weeping-smiling, greet I thee, my earth. 

And do thee favour with my royal hands. 

Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, 

Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense ; 

But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom. 

And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way. 

Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet 

Which with usurping steps do trample thee : 

Yield stinging-nettles to mine enemies; 

And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower. 

Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,^^ 

Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 

Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. — 

Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords : 

This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones 

Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 

Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. 

Car. Fear not, my lord : that Power, that made you king. 
Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. 
The means that heaven yields^* must be embrac'd, 
And not neglected ; else, if heaven would. 
And we will not,^'^ heaven's offer we refuse. 
The profer'd means of succour and redress. 

Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss ; 
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security. 
Grows strong and great in substance and in friends. 

K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st thou not 
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, ^® 
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen. 
In murders and in outrage, bloody here 
But when, from under this terrestrial ball. 
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines. 
And darts his light through every guilty hole, 
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins. 
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs. 
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves ? 
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, — 
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night. 
Whilst we were wandering with the Antipodes, — 



[act nr. sc. II. 

Shall sec us rising in our throne, the east, 

His treasons will sit hlushing in his face, 

Not ahlc to endure the sight of day. 

But self-affrighted trenihle at his sin. 

Not all the water in the rough rude sea 

Can w^ash the halm from an anointed king ; 

The hreath of worldly men cannot depose^^ 

The deputy elected hy the Lord : 

For every man that Bolinghroke hath press'd 

To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 

God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 

A glorious angel : then, if angels fight. 

Weak men must fall ; for heaven still guards the right. 

Enter Salisbury. 

Welcome, my lord : how far off lies your power ? 

Sal. Nor near nor further off, my gracious lord, 
Than this weak arm : discomfort guides my tongue, 
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.^" 
One day too late,^° I fear, my noble lord. 
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth : 
O, call back yesterday,"^ bid time return. 
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men 
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,"^ 
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state ; 
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wast dead. 
Are gone to Bolinghroke, dispers'd, and fled. 

Ainn. Comfort, my liege : why looks your grace so pale? 

K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand men 

Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ; 
And, till so much blood thither come again, 

Have I not reason to look pale and dead ? 
All souls that will be safe fly from my side ; 
For time hath set a blot upon my pride. 

j4um. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you are. 

K. Rich. I had forgot myself : am I not king? 
Awake, thou sluggard majesty ! thou sleepest. 
Is not the king's name twenty thousand names? 
Arm, arm, my name I a puny subject strikes 
At thy great glory. — Look not to the ground. 
Ye favourites of a king : are w^e not high ? 

ACT ni. sc. II.] 



High be our thoughts : I know my uncle York 

Hath power enough to serve our turn. — But who conies here? 

Enter Scroop. 

Scroop. More health and happiness betide ray liege 
Than can ray care-tun'd tongue deliver him ! 

K. Rich. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar'd : 
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. 
Say, is ray kingdora lost ? why, 'twas ray care ? 
And what loss is it to be rid of care ; 
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we ? 
Greater he shall not be ; if he serve God, 
We'll serve hira too, and be his fellow so : 
Revolt our subjects ? that we cannot mend ; 
They break their faith to God, as well as us : 
Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay ; 
The worst is death, and death will have his day. 

Scroop. Glad am I that your highness is so arra'd 
To bear the tidings of calaraity. 
Like an unseasonable stormy day, 
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, 
As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears ; 
So high above his limits swells the rage 
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land 
With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. 
White-beards have arra'd their thin and hairless scalps 
Against thy majesty ; and boys, with women's voices 
Strive to speak big, and clap their feraale^^ joints 
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown : 
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows^^ 
Of double-fatal yew"° against thy state ; 
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills 
Against thy seat : both young and old rebel. 
And all goes worse than I have power to tell. 

K. Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill. 
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire T'' where is Bagot 
What is become of Bushy ? where is Green ? 
That they have let the dangerous enemy 
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? 
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it : 
I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. 


EICHARD THE SECOND. [act iii. sc. ii. 

Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my lord. 
Bic/i. O villains, vipers, danm'd without redemption ! 
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! 
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart ! 
Three Judases, eaeh one thrice worse than Judas ! 
Would they make peace ? terrible hell make war 
Upon their spotted souls for this offence ! 

Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, 
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate : — 
Again uncurse their souls ; their peace is made 
With heads, and not with hands : those whom you curse 
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, 
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground/^ 

Aum. Are Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead ? 

Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. 

Aum. Where is the duke my fatlier with his power ? 

K. Rich. No matter where ; — of comfort no man speak : 
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; 
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills : 
And yet not so, — for what can we bequeath, 
Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? 
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, 
And nothing can we call our own but death, 
And that small model of the barren earth,^° 
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 
And tell sad stories of the death of king-s : — 
How some have been deposed ; some slain in war ; 
Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd 
Some poison'd by their wives ; some sleeping kill'd ; 
All murder'd : — for within the hollow crown 
That rounds the mortal temples of a king 
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,^^ 
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ; 
Allowing him a breath, a little scene, 
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks ; 
Infusing him with self and vain conceit, — 
As if this flesh, which walls about our life. 
Were brass impregnable ; and humour'd thus. 
Comes at the last, and with a little pin 



Bores through his castle-wall, and — farewell king I 
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
With solemn reverence ; throw away respect, 
Tradition,^^ form, and ceremonious duty ; 
For you have but mistook me all this while : 
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief. 
Need friends : — subjected thus. 
How can you say to me, 1 am a king? 

Car. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes. 
But presently prevent the ways to wail. 
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength. 
Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe. 
And so your follies fight against yourself. 
Fear, and be slain ; no worse can come to fight : 
And fight and die is death destroying death ; 
Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. 

Aum. My father hath a power ; inquire of him ; 
And learn to make a body of a limb. 

K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well : — proud Bolingbroke, I come 
To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 
This ague-fit of fear is over-blown ; 
An easy task it is to win our own. — 
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power ? 
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 

Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky 

The state and inclination of the day : 
So may you by my dull and heavy eye. 

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 
I play the torturer, by small and small 
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken : — 
Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke ; 
And all your northern castles yielded up. 
And all your southern gentlemen in arms 
Upon his party. 

K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. — 
Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth [_To Aumerle. 
Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! 
What say you now ? what comfort have we now ? 
By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly 
That bids me be of comfort any more. 
Go to Flint-castle there Fll pine away ; 
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 

IX. 17 



RICnAUD THE SECOND. [act iii. sc. iii. 

That power I have, discharge ; and let them go 
To car the land that hath some hope to grow, 
For I have none : — let no man speak again 
To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 
Aim. My liege, one word. 

K, Rich. He does me double wTong 

That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. 
Discharge my followers : let them hence away, 
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day.^^ [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Wales. A Plain hy the Sea, before Flint-castle. 

Enter, tvith martial music and colours,^^ Bolingbroke and 
forces; York, Northumberland, and others. 

Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn 
The Welshmen are dispers'd ; and Salisbury 
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed. 
With some few private friends,^^ upon this coast. 

North. The news is very fair and good, my lord : 
Richard not far from hence hath hid his head. 

York. It would beseem the Lord Northumberland 
To say. King Richard : — alack the heavy day. 
When such a sacred king should hide his head ! 

North. Your grace mistakes ; only to be brief. 
Left I his title out. 

York. The time hath been. 

Would you have been so brief with him, he would 
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you. 
For taking so the head,^* your whole head's length. 

Boling. ^Mistake not, uncle, further than you should. 

York. Take not, good cousin, further than you should, 
Lest you mistake : the heavens are o'er our heads. 

Boling. I know it, uncle ; and oppose not myself 
Against their will. — But who comes here ? 

Enter Percy. 
Welcome, Harry : w hat, will not this castle yield ? 

Meeting of dve/£ari^ of Salisbury and/ Richardy the/ Secmd/, cuid/ Ihe/ interview beiwp^n^ Bo/Xrufhroke/ 
cuidy Jizchard/ at J^hrtt Caslle; from/ ilretm^ Manuecripl? Chronicle' . 


ACT in. sc. III.] 



Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, 
Against thy entrance. 

Boling. Royally ! 
Why, it contains no king ? 

Percy. Yes, my good lord, 

It doth contain a king ; King Richard lies 
Within the limits of yond lime and stone : 
And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, 
Sir Stephen Scroop besides a clergyman 
Of holy reverence, who I cannot learn. 

North. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. 

Boling. Noble lord,^° \To Northumberland. 

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ; 
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle 
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver : — 
Harry Bolingbroke 

On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand. 

And sends allegiance and true faith of heart 

To his most royal person ; hither come 

Even at his feet to lay my arms and power. 

Provided that, my banishment repeal'd, 

And lands restor'd again, be freely granted : 

If not, I'll use the advantage of my power. 

And lav the summer's dust with showers of blood 

Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen : 

The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke 

It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench 

The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land. 

My stooping duty tenderly shall show. 

Go, signify as much, while here we march 

Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. — 

[Northumberland advances to the castle icith a trumpet. 
Let's march without the noise of threatening drum. 
That from the castle's totter' d*^ battlements 
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. 
Methinks King Richard and myself should meet 
With no less terror than the elements 
Of fire and water, when their thundering shock"^^ 
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. 
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water : 
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain 


EICHxlRD THE SECOND. [act iii. sc. iii. 

My waters, — on the earth, and not on him. 
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks. 

A parle sounded , and answered hy another trumpet icithin. 
Flourish. Enter, on the walls. King Richard, the Bishop of 
Carlisle,*' Aumerle, ScRoop, arid Salisbury. 

See, see,^ King Richard doth himself appear. 
As doth the hlushing discontented sun 
From out the fiery portal of the east. 
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent 
To dim his glory, and to stain the track 
Of his bright passage to the Occident. 

Yorh. Yet looks he like a king : behold, his eye. 
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth 
Controlhng majesty : — alack, alack, for woe, 
That any harm*^ should stain so fair a show ! 

K. Rich. We are amaz'd ; and thus long have we stood 
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,**^ 

[To Northumberland. 
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king : 
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 
To pay their awful duty to our presence ? 
If we be not, show us the hand of God 
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship ; 
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone 
Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, 
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. 
And though you think that all, as you have done, 
Have torn their souls by turning them from us. 
And we are barren and bereft of friends ; 
Yet know, — my master, God omnipotent, 
Is mustering in his clouds, on our behalf, 
Armies of pestilence ; and they shall strike 
Your children yet unborn and unbegot. 
That lift your vassal hands against my head. 
And threat the glory of my precious crown. 
Tell Bolingbroke (for yond methinks he is), 
That every stride he makes upon my land 
Is dangerous treason : he is come to ope 
The purple testament of bleeding war f 




♦ But ere the crown he looks for Hve in peace,''^ 
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons 
Shall ill become the flower of England's face,*^ 
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 
To scarlet indignation, and bedew 
Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. 

North, The king of heaven forbid our lord the king 
Should so with civil and uncivil arms 
Be rush'd upon ! Thy thrice-noble cousin 
Harry Bolingbroke doth humbly kiss thy hand ; 
And by the honourable tomb he swears, 
That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones, 
And by the royalties of both your bloods, — 
Currents that spring from one most gracious head, 
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, 
And bv the worth and honour of himself, 
Comprising all that may be sworn or said, — 
His coming hither hath no further scope 
Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg 
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees : 
Which on thy royal party granted once, 
His glittering arms he will commend to rust. 
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
To faithful service of your majesty. 
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just 
And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. 

K. Rich. Northumberland, say thus the king returns : — 
His noble cousin is right welcome hither ; 
And all the number of his fair demands 
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction : 
With all the gracious utterance thou hast 
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. 
We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, [To Aumerle. 

To look so poorly, and to speak so fair ? 
Shall we call back Northvunberland, and send 
Defiance to the traitor, and so die ? 

Aum. No, good my lord ; let's fight with gentle ^vords 
Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. 

K, Rich. O God, O God ! that e'er this tongue of mine, 
That laid the sentence of dread banishment 
On yon proud man, should take it off* again 
With words of sooth O that I were as great 


RICHARD THE SECOND. [act iii. sc. iii. 

As is my grief, or lesser than my name ! 

Or that I could forget what I have heen ! 

Or not rcmcmher what I nuist he now ! 

Swell'st thou, proud heart ? Til give thee seope to heat, 

Sinee foes have scope to beat both thee and me. 

Aum. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. 

K. Rich. What must the king do now? must lie submit? 
The king shall do it : must he be depos'd ? 
The king shall be contented : must he lose 
The name of king? o' God's name, let it go : 
I'll give my jewels for a set of beads,^^ 
IMy gorgeous palace for a hermitage, 
jMy gay apparel for an alms-man's gown,^^ 
My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood,^* 
My sceptre for a palmer's walking-stalF, 
My subjects for a pair of carved saints, 
And my large kingdom for a little grave, 
A little little grave, an obscure grave ; — 
Or I'll be buried in the king's highway. 
Some way of common trade,^^ where subjects' feet 
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head ; 
For on my heart they tread now whilst I live ; 
And buried once, why not upon my head ? — 
Au merle, thou weep'st, — my tender-hearted cousin ! — 
We'll make foul weather with despised tears ; 
Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn, 
And make a dearth in this revolting land. 
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes. 
And make some pretty match with shedding tears ? 
As thus ; — to drop them still upon one place. 
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves 
Within the earth ; and, therein laid, — there lies 
Two kinsmen,^" their graves with weeping eyes. 

Would not this ill do well ? — Well, well, I see 
I talk but idly, and you mock at me. — 
^lost mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland, 
What says King Bolingbroke ? will his majesty 
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die ? 
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says — I." 

North. Mv lord, in the base-court^® he doth attend 
To speak with you ; — may it please you to come down. 

K. Rich. Down, down I come ; like glistering Phaeton, 



Wanting the manage of unruly jades. 

In the base court ? Base court, where kings grow base, 

To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. 

In the base court ? Come down ? Down, court ! down, king ! 

For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing. 

[Exemit above. 

Boling. What says his majesty? 

North. Sorrow and grief of heart 

Make him speak fondly, like a frantic man : 
Yet he is come. 

Enter King Richard attended, below. 

Boling. Stand all apart. 
And show fair duty to his majesty.^' — 

My gracious lord, — [Kneeling. 

K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee,^" 
To make the base earth proud with kissing it : 
Me rather had my heart might feel your love 
Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. 
Up, cousin, up ; — your heart is up, I know, 
Thus high at least," although your knee be low. 

Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. 

K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. 

Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, 
As my true service shall deserve your love. 

K. Rich. Well you deserve : — they well deserve to have. 
That know the strong'st and surest way to get. — 
Uncle, give me your hand : nay, dry your eyes ; 
Tears show their love, but want their remedies. — 
Cousin, I am too young to be your father, 
Though you are old enough to be my heir. 
What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; 
For do we must what force will have us do. — 
Set on towards London : — cousin, is it so ? 

Boling. Yea, my good lord. 

K. Rich. Then I must not say no.*'^ 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 


EICHAED THE SECOND. [act iir. sc. iv. 

SCENE IV. — Langley. The Duke of York's garden, 

Enter the Queen and two Ladies/^ 

Queen. Wliat sport shall we devise here in this garden, 
To drive away the heavy thought of care ? 

First Lady. Madam, we'll play at howls. 

Queen. 'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs, 
And that my fortune runs against the bias. 

First Lady. Madam, we'll dance. 

Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight. 
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief : 
Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport. 

First Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. 

Queen. Of sorrow or of joy ? 

First Lady. Of either, madam. 

Queen. Of neither, girl : 

For if of joy, being altogether wanting, 
It doth remember me the more of sorrow ; 
Or if of grief, being altogether had. 
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy : 
For what I have, I need not to repeat ; 
And what I want, it boots not to complain. 

Fi7'st Lady. Madam, I'll sing. 

Queen. 'Tis well that thou hast cause ; 

But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep. 

First Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you good. 

Queen. And I could sing,^* would weeping do me good, 
And never borrow any tear of thee. — 
But stay, here comes the gardeners : 
Let's step into the shadow of these trees. 
My wretchedness unto a row of pins, 
They'll talk of state ; for every one doth so 
Against a change : woe is forerun with woe.''' 

[Queen and Ladies retire. 

Enter a Gardener and two Servants. 
Gard. Go, bind thou up yond dangling apricocks, 



Which, hke unruly children, make their sire 
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight : 
Give some supportance to the bending twigs. — 
Go thou, and like an executioner, 
Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays, 
That look too lofty in our commonwealth : 
All must be even in our government. — 
You thus employ'd, I will go root away 
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck 
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 

First Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, 
Keep law and form and due proportion, 
Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,*'^ 
When our sea- walled garden, the whole land. 
Is full of weeds ; her fairest flowers chok'd up, 
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd. 
Her knots disorder'd,*^^ and her wholesome herbs 
Swarming with caterpillars ? 

Gard. Hold thy peace : — 

He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring 
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf : 
The weeds that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, 
That seem'd in eating him to hold him up. 
Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke, — 
I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 

First Serv. What, are thev dead? 

Gard. They are ; and Bolingbroke 

Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. — Oh ! what pity is it 
That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land 
As we this garden ! We at time of year 
Do wound the bark,^^ the skin of our fruit-trees. 
Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood. 
With too much riches it confound itself : 
Had he done so to great and growing men. 
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste 
Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches 
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live : 
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, 
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. 

First Serv. What, think you, then, the king shall be depos'd ? 

Gard. Depress'd he is already ; and depos'd 
'Tis doubt, he will be letters came last night 

IX. 18 


EICHARD THE SECOND. [act iii. sc. iv. 

To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's, 
That tell hlack tidings. 

Queen. O, I am press'dto death^° through want of speaking ! — 
Thou, old Adam's likeness'^ [coming forward luith ladies], set to 

dress this garden,'" 
llow dares thy harsh-rude tongue^^ sound these unpleasing news ? 
What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee 
To make a seeond fall of cursed man ? 
Why dost thou say King Richard is depos'd ? 
Dar'st thou, thou little hetter thing than earth. 
Divine his downfal ? Say, where, when, and how, 
Cam'st thou hy this ill tidings ? speak, thou wretch. 

Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I 
To hreathe these news ; yet what I say is true. 
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 
Of Bolingbroke : their fortunes both are weigh'd : 
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself. 
And some few vanities that make him light ; 
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, 
Besides himself, are all the English peers. 
And with that odds he weig-hs Kino; Richard down. 
Post you to London, and you'll find it so ; 
I speak no more than every one doth know. 

Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot. 
Doth not thy embassage belong to me. 
And am I last that knows it ? O, thou think'st 
To sers e me last, that I may longest keep 
Thy sorrow in my breast. — Come, ladies, go. 
To meet at London London's king in woe. — 
What, was I born to this, that my sad look 
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? 
Gardener, for telling me these news of woe, 
I would the plants thou graft'st may never grow. 

[Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 

Gard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might be no worse, 
I would my skill were subject to thy curse. — 
Here did she fall a tear here, in this place, 
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace : 
Rue, even for ruth," here shortly shall be seen. 
In the remembrance of a weeping queen. [Eveunt. 

^ And disfigur'd clean. 

Clean has here the signification of, altogether, totally. Thus in Shakespeare's 
seventy-fifth Sonnet : — " And by and by clean starved for a look." Again, in 
Baret's Alvearie, 1580, — " Quite and cleane to take awaye an opinion from one.'V 

^ Broke the possession of a royal led. 

There is, I believe, no authority for this. Isabel, the queen of the present 
play, was but nine years old. Eichard's first queen, Anne, died in 1392, and the 
king was extremely fond of her. — Malone. 

^ Bisparh'd my paries. 

To dispai'h, is a legal term, and signifies, to divest a park, constituted by royal 
grant or prescription, of its name and character, by destroying the enclosures of 
such a park, and also the vert (or whatever bears green leaves, whether wood or 
underwood), and the beasts of chase therein ; and laying it open. — Malone. 

For they riotously, with routs and companies, with sword and violence, of their 
own heads and authority, assembled themselves in many places, plucked down the 
men's hedges, disparked their parks. — Strype. Mem. Edw. VI. an. 1545. 

* From my own windoics torn my household coat. 

It was the practice when coloured glass was in use, of which there are still 
some remains in old seats and churches, to anneal the arms of the family in the 
windows of the house. — Johnson. 

^ Baz'd out my impress. 

Imprese, impresa, or impress, a device on a shield, &c. In this sense the 
latter word is accented on the first syllable ; but imprese, which is more common 
in old writers, on the last. In Camden's Hemains is a chapter on imprescs, which 
begins with the following definition : — "An iynprese (as the Italians call it) is a 
device in picture, with his motto, or word, borne by noble and learned personages, 
to notifie some particular conceit of their owne : as emblemes — do propound 
some general instruction to all." — Nares. 



The fit hnpresa^s for inflam'd desire. — Broicn, Brit. Past. 

Wliosc smoky ])lain a clialk'd impressc fill'd, 

A bag fast seaki : his word — Much better sav'd than spill'd. 

Fletch. Ihirple Is. viii. 29. 

In the above ])assage the final e of imprese must be pronounced, to make the 
verse complete. " Rome, the lady citty, with her imprese, Orbis in urbe." — 
Clitus's "Whimzies, p. 150. — Ibid. 

Ecrne, in his Blazon of Gentry, 1588, observes that "the arms, &c., of traitors 
and rebels may be defaced and removed wheresoever they are fixed or set." Eor 
the punishment of a base knight see Spenser's Eaerie Queen, b. v. c. iii. st. 37. 
" Then tlie hearse richly behung with scutcheons, devices, mottoes, and impresses,'' 
Taylor's Workes, 1G30. 

° To execution and the hand of death. 

In the condemnation of the king's two favourites. Bushy and Green, the 
Chronicle is followed ; for if Shakespeare exercises upon them a summary jurisdic- 
tion, Holinshed reports that they were arraigned before the constable and marshal; 
a proceeding, I apprehend, which (even if it implied the exercise of martial law) 
was equally inconsistent with the ordinary forms of legal judgment. Walsingham 
says they were statim ad clamorem commitnium decapitati, p. 38. Scroop, Earl of 
Wiltshire, is mentioned as beheaded with the other two ; and Shakespeare after- 
wards alludes to him, as in the same predicament, though he has omitted him in 
this place. — Courtnay. 

To fffht icith Olendower and his complices. 

Theobald hath rejected this line as spurious, but for reasons utterly insufiicient 
to justify such a proceeding. I find in the history of those times, the Duke of 
Lancaster marched his army from Bristol directly to Chester, I suppose in order 
to attack the Welsh army assembled by the Earl of Salisbury, before it was joined 
by the King with his forces from Ireland ; but that army had already dispersed 
itself on a false rumour of the King's death. It is not improbable that Glendower 
was on this occasion with his countrymen ; especially as it appears just before, 
that superstition had a principal share in influencing the dispersion of the Welsh, 
which weakness too is one of the distinguishing peculiarities in Glendower's 
character as drawn in the Eirst Part of Henry IV. Till, therefore, I am better 
informed, I should conclude this line to be genuine. — Heath. 

It is evident, from the preceding scene, there was a force in Wales, which 
Bolingbroke might think it necessary to suppress ; and why might not Shakespeare 
call it Glendower's? When we next see Bolingbroke, he is in Wales, and 
mentions his having received intelligence that the Welchmen are dispersed.™ 

Owen Glyndwr, or Glendower, was unquestionably one of the attendants of 
King Richard in Wales. He was at this time a squire in Richard's service. 
According to Stowe, " Owen Glendower served King Richard at Elint Castle." 

^ Barhlonghly castle call they this at hand? 

Richard really landed at Milford-haven, but perhaps the castle here mentioned 
is the same with that of Bellicaldit, or Bellicardric, alluded to in the following 
curious extracts. 

The account of the discussion that took place in the council at Milford-haven 
is supplied by the MS. Ambassades, and is curious, inasmuch as it is characteristic 
of the speakers, and shews the grounds upon which the king was determined to 
retire to Conway : — " He consulted with his friends what course he had best 



pursue. Then said the earl of Salisbury, ' Sir, truly this man, as I have heard, 
hath already stirred up many people against you by falselioods and artful words ; 
you now see, and may perceive, that four parts of your men, and all those of 
highest rank, have left you in a single night. So it seemeth to me, that it were 
well, saving the correction of your good opinion, since we are few in number, and, 
moreover, we know not whether those who are with us will remain, that on the 
approach of night we should take four or five hundred of the best and most 
faithful of those that are left ; put to sea, for our navy is ready to go wherever 
you please ; and make straight for Bordeaux : there we shall be well received ; 
and you will also have aid, if it be needful, from France, from Brittanny, or from 
Gascony ; for it is better to withdraw a little from an enemy than to throw one's 
self upon his protection.' The Earl of Huntingdon replied, ' By Saint George, if 
my lord trusts to me, he will go this very night to BelHcaldit, and thence to the 
strong castle of Conway; there he will be in a state of security, in his kingdom, 
and in his rightful inheritance.' And the king made answer, ' So we should at 
Bordeaux.' 'That is true,' said the earl; 'but if you go to Bordeaux, every one 
will say you will have fled without being pursued ; and that if you had not felt 
yourself guilty in some respect, you would not have gone away; and if you are in 
the castle of Conway you will be secure from any one ; for in spite of Henry of 
Lancaster and all his friends, at all times, and at any time you please, you may 
embark and go wherever you chuse. And, peradventure, while you are in the 
castle some good agreement may be made.' Tlien said the king, ' you speak well ; 
we will do so ; and yourself shall go to-morrow to Henry of Lancaster to know 
what he would have.' The Bishop of Carlisle, the Earl of Salisbury, Sir Stephen 
Scroope, Eerriby, Janico, and M audelain would have prefered going to Bordeaux : 
but it pleased the king to listen to his brother." In Bibl. du Hoy, MS. No. 635, 
the Bishop of Carlisle unites in advising him to proceed to Conway. BelHcaldit 
or Bellicardric is there represented to be a strong castle thirty miles from Milford ; 
and it is said that they went thither the first night, and the next night to Conway ; 
which, upon any calculation of the whole distance to the extremity of North 
Wales, taking into account also the nature of the countrv, seems impossible. — 

° Yea, my lord. 

" These gross violations of the metre could never have proceeded from the poet. 
We might read : — " Yea, my good lord ; how brooks your grace the air, — xlfter 
your tossing on the breaking seas ?," Seymour. It is scarcely necessary to observe 
that alterations of this kind are wholly unauthorised, and suggested in ignorance 
of the hcense permitted in the old dramatic metre. Steevens, in the second line, 
omits your, but retains late. 

^'^ After your late tossing on the hreaJciiig seas. 

In these affaires he feares are grown e too farre, 
Hastes his returne from thence with greatest speed ; 
But was by tempests, windes, and seas debarr'd, 
As if they likewise had against him warr'd. 

BanieVs Citill Wars of England, 4to. Lond. 1599. 

Though rebels wound thee tcith their horses' hoofs. 

• — Sends me to know the cause of your arrive ; 
Or why the arm'd hoofs of your fiery steeds 
Dare wound the forehead of his peaceful land. 

Heyicood's Four Fr entices of London^ 1G15. 


The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds. 

Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis. 

And smiles in meeting. 

Perhaps smiles is here used as a substantive. As a mother plays fondly with 
her child from whom slie has been a long time parted, crying, and at the same 
smiling, at meeting him. It has been proposed to read — smiles in weeping ; and 
I once thought the emendation very plausible. But I am now persuaded the text 
is right. If we read weeping, the long parted mother and her child do not 
meet, and there is no particular cause assigned for either her smiles or her tears. 
— Malone. 

Guard it, I pray thee, idUJi a lurhing adder. 
Malone says that to guard means to border, in which sense that word is 
frequently used ; but I think that, in tliis place, it rather means, to watch, or 
protect. Shakespeare meant placing an adder in the flower by way of guard ; 
putting a soldier in it. — Bitson. 

^* The means that heaven yields. 

Of this speech, the four last lines were restored from the first edition by Pope. 
They were, I suppose, omitted by the players only to shorten the scene, for they 
are worthy of the author and suitable to the personage. — Johnson. 

If heaven would, and we tcill not. 
Thus the quarto 1597, except that the word {fis wanting. The quarto 1608, 
and the late editions, read — " And we ifould not." The word if was supplied by 
Pope. Eoth the metre and the sense show that it was accidentally omitted in the 
first copy. — Malone. 

Behind the globe that lights the lower icorld. 

So in ed. 1597, and the other early editions. Modern editors correct this by 
reading, and lights, one amongst the many instances that might be cited of the 
little attention that has been paid to Shakesperian phraseology. As Talbot 
observes, there is no necessity for any alteration, either by transposition or other- 
wise. That does not relate to the nearest antecedent, globe, but to the eye of 
heaven. Nothing is more common in Shakespeare, and the writers of his day, 
than this manner of disposing of the relative. Dr. Johnson proposes a slight 
transposition which will restore the sense without changing a word : — 

That when the searching eye of heaven, that lights 
The lower world, is hid behind the globe, &c. 

By the lower tcorld, as the passage is amended by Dr. Johnson, we must under- 
stand, a world lower than this of ours ; I suppose, our Antipodes. But the lower 
world may signify our tcorld. Thus, in Measure for Measure : 

Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting 
To the under generation. — Malone. 

The expression "lower world," was applied at pleasure both to our world 
and to the antipodes, sometimes simply meaning the former and sometimes 
signifying the latter. 

The fabricke of the earth should tremble. 
The heavens be clouded in a vaile of fables. 
And weep itselfe in shoures upon the earth ; 
The sunne goe shroud itselfe beneath the lower 
World, never to rise againe ; but cause an 



TJniversall darknesse o'er the earth, where 
Men shall sit mourning our sad departure. 

The Nolle Stranger, 4to. 1640. 

Again, in Chapman's version of the nineteenth Iliad : — " Gave light to all ; 
as well to gods, as men of th' ^mder globe." Again, in Fletcher's Two Noble 

Kinsmen : " clap their wings and sing — To all the under icorld." — 


In our former edition I had said, that one of the old copies confirmed Dr. 
Johnson's conjecture ; but I have since observed that it was only a correction 
very neatly made with a pen by some former possessor of the quarto, 1599. — 

" In murders and in outrage, boldly here. 

Bouldly, ed. 1597, an old orthography of boldly, altered in the later editions 
to bloody. As Mr. Dyce observes, nothing can be plainer than that boldly is put 
in opposition to trembling in the last line of this glorious passage. 

The breath of icorldly men cannot depose. 

The doctrine of the divine right of kings, and of the passive obedience of 
subjects, have never been carried further in any country than in this island, while 
the house of Tudor sate on the throne. Of this fact, the Homilies, composed 
during the reign of young Edward, and appointed in the Thirty-nine Articles to be 
read in churches, furnish striking and abundant proof. Take, as an instance, the 
following extract from the Homily against Disobedience and wilful Eebellion : 
" As the name of the king is very often attributed and given unto God in holy 
scriptures, so doth God himself in the same scriptures sometime vouchsafe to 
communicate his name with earthly |jn;2<?^"s, terming them Gods," 1st part. And 
in the 4th part, we are directed to " call to remembrance the heavy wrath and 
dreadful indignation of Almighty God against subjects as do only but imcardly 
grudge, mutter, and murmur against their governors, though their inward treason, 
so privily hatched in their breasts, come not to an open declaration of their 
doings."— iTo/^ White. 

And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 

At the meeting of the king and the earl, instead of joy, there was very great 
sorrow. Tears, lamentations, sighs, groans and mourning quickly broke forth. 
Truly it was a piteous sight to behold their looks and countenance, and woeful 
meeting. The earl's face was pale with watching ; he related to the king his hard 
fate; and how he had made his muster when he landed in England; and that he 
had straightway sent through the country for the Cheshire men, and the Welsh, 
who were heartily willing to conquer their enemies. Eorty thousand of them were 
brought together. There, said I to them often, " My good friends, let us go 
forward ; the king hath sent me over hither to lead you on. Be sure, that I will 
not desert you till I die. But I could not persuade them from going, each of 
them when he saw his danger, some to the duke, others elsewhere ; thinking 
because they saw you not directly there, that you were of a truth dead beyond the 
sea. So after I had kept them nearly a fortnight in the field, they left me all 
alone in the plain. Alas ! very little doth he love you, who hath so long detained 
you in Ireland. All is lost; without the help of our Lord, I surely think that we 
are delivered over to our latter end." No one would believe how much tlie king- 
grieved at it. His mortal misfortune was not light, neither was his wratli, while 
he often said, " Glorious and merciful God, who didst endure to be crucified for 



us, if by sin I have greatly transgressed against thee, witli folded hands I cry thee 
mercy. SufiFer me not to lose my country and my life througli these perfidious 
traitors full of envy, who thus would thrust me out and deprive me of mine 
inheritance. Alas ! I know not what they would require of me. According to 
mine ability I have desired to observe justice and righteousness. That sovereign 
King, who sitteth above, and sceth afar, I call to witness it, so truly, that my sad 
heart could wish that all mortals, past, present, and to come, could know my 
thought and my desires. If I have been most invariable in preserving right, 
reason demands it; for a king should be firm and steady both in keeping himself 
notable for the punishment of the wicked, and for holding to the truth in every 
place. Alas ! and because I have followed this righteous course, as far as I was 
able for these three years past, yea, for eight or ten, do these people keep me in 
this affliction. 0 God of glory ! I humbly beseech thee, that as I have never 
consented, according to my abihty, to bring evil upon any one who had not 
deserved it, be pleased to have mercy upon me, alas ! a poor king ; for I know 
right well, that unless thou shouldst speedily deign to regard me, I am lost." — 
Cretan's Chronicte. 

"° One day too late. 

Thinking the Earle had raisd some forces there, 
AVhom there he Andes forsaken all alone. 
The people in those partes which levied were, 
E'ing closely shronke away dispersd and gone ; 
The king had stayd too long, and they in feare 
Resolved every man to shift for one. 
At this amasd such fortune he laments, 
Eoresees his fall whereto each thing consents. 

DanieVs Civill Wars of England, 4to. Lond. 1599. 

0, call lacTc yesterday. 

Faire gentleman, but that it is too late 
To call back yesterdaie, I would have wisht 
That you had dealt more kindly with my lord. 

The Famous History e of Captaine TJiomas StuJceley, 1605. 

And tJiou shall have twelve thousand fighting men. 

But the King, hearing this noble body of men was dispersed, fell into despair 
of his fortunes, and changes colour upon it ; and being asked the reason of his 
paleness, he replies, — 

But now the blood of twenty thousand men 
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled. 

"Well; here are 20,000 men sprung up out of 12,000 in the compass of six 
lines. But in seven lines after the King comes to himself; and bethinking 
himself of his dignity, and the justice of his cause, he begins to despise this loss, 
and cries, — " Is not the King's nomo, forty thousand names?" Here is a strange 
disagreement in numbers, which ought some way to be reconciled. My opinion 
forty thousand should be the reading in all the three passages, for our poet in 
his historical plays was a most faithful copier of Holinshed's Ciironicle ; and that 
historian expressly tells us that King Eichard, being detained in Ireland by 
contrary winds, dispatched my Lord Salisbury to raise a force in Wales, who 
proved so successful in this commission, that in four days space there were to the 
number of forty thousand men assembled, ready to go with the King against his 




enemies, if he had been there himself in person. But a report of the insurrection 
spreading, Salisbury, with great difficulty, kept this body together fourteen days ; 
but the King not coming within that term they unanimously dispersed themselves. 
— Theobald . 

The difference between the twelve thousand and the twenty thousand may be 
accounted for by the king adding his own followers, and those who flocked from 
other parts, to the Welsh forces. Eichard's allusion to his own name being 
equivalent to forty thousand men, the reading of the folio editions, has no 
necessary connexion with the forces he has lost. " The king's name is a tower of 
strength," Eichard the Third. In the early quarto editions, we have twenty 
instead of forty. Eichard means that his own is worth the forty thousand names 
of others. 

The Earle of Salesburie caused to sommon the Welchmen, and them of 
Cheshire, to come to him, so that (weening the King had bin arrived at Conwey) 
within foure dayes there were come togither fortie thousand men, ready to goe 
against the Duke of Hereford, where they stayd fourteene dayes. — Stoice's 

To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late. 

Eichard's fatal delay in Ireland was chiefly occasioned by the treacherouit 
advice of Albemarle. In reference to this, Creton relates that, " a certain aged 
person, who truly loved the king, was displeased at it, telling him, ' Dear Sire, 
surely in such a case it is useless to delay.' Nothing that coidd be said to him 
was of any avail. His good friends thereat checked their smiles, and were greatly 
grieved and wroth at heart. Without farther discourse he sent for the Earl of 
Salisbury, saying, ' Cousin, you must go to England and resist this mad enterprise 
of the duke, and let his people be put to death, or taken prisoners ; and learn, too, 
how and by what means he hath thus troubled my land, and set it against me.' 
The Earl said, ' Sir, upon mine honour I will perform it in such manner that in a 
short time you shall hear of this disturbance, or I will suffer the penalty of death.' 
' Eair cousin, I know it well,' said the king, ' and will myself set forward to pass 
over as speedily as I may, for never shall I have comfort or repose so long as the 
false traitor, who now hath played me such a trick, shall be alive. If I can but 
get him in my power, I will cause him to be put to death in such a manner that it 
shall be spoken of long enough, even in Turkey.' The earl caused his people and 
vessels to be made ready for immediate departure, gravely took leave of the king, 
and entreated him to proceed with all possible haste. The king, upon his advice, 
promised him, happen what might, that he would put to sea within six days." In 
reality, Eichard stopped in Ireland eighteen days after the departure of the Earl 
of Salisbury. According to Otterbourne, seven days were lost by the selection of 
another port, after all things were prepared, and the horses put on board. He 
says, — "Dei voluntate contigit ut incideret regi diversum propositum eo tempore." 
But, according to him, all things were made ready, and even the horses were put 
on board. These he ordered to be disembarked, and taken to another port, by 
which seven days were lost. 

And clap their female joints. 

Pope substituted clasp without any reason. The boys' joints might be girlish, 
but not necessarily feehle ; and armour is a needless substitute for arms. In this 
very play we have — " Thus knightly clad in arms." — Knight. 





Tliy very leadsmen learn to lend their lotos. 

Such is the reading of all the copies ; yet I 
doubt whether headsmen be right, for the how 
seems to be mentioned here as the proper weapon 
of a leadsman. The King's leadsmen were his 
chaplains. Trevisa calls himself the leadsman 
of his patron. Beadsman might likewise be any 
man maintained by charity to pray for his 
benefactor. Hanmer reads — " the very beadsmen," 
but thy is better. — Johnson. 

The reading of the text is right enough : *' As 
boys strive to speak big, and clasp their effeminate 
joints in stiff unwieldy arras, &c., so his very 
headsmen learn to bend their bows against him." 
Their does not absolutely denote that the low 
was their usual or proper weapon ; but only taken 
up and appropriated by them on this occasion. — Percy. 

The first figure here engraved, selected by Mr. 
Fairholt, represents one of the royal beadsmen, and 
occurs in an illumination to a deed for founding a 
fraternity of thirteen poor men at Westminster, under 
the government of the abbey there, temp. Henry vii. 
He wears on his left shoulder the royal badge of the 
Tudor rose crowned, and is habited in a long gown of 
grey cloth. The second example of a beadsman is 
copied from the curious drawing of the funeral of 
Abbot Tslip in Westminster Abbey, dated 1532. 

Of double fatal yew. 

Called so, because the leaves of the yew are poison, 
and the wood is employed for instruments of death. 
From some of the ancient statutes it appears that 
every Englishman, while archery was practised, was 
obliged to keep in his house either a bow of yew or 
some other wood. It should seem therefore that yews 
were not only planted in church-yards to defend the 
churches from the wind, but on account of their use in making bows ; while by 
the benefit of being secured in enclosed places, their poisonous quality was kept 
from doing mischief to cattle. — Steevens. 

Distaff- women being mentioned in the next line, it will be an opportunity to 
refer to the very singular and interesting illumination of Sardinapalus, in the copy 
of Valerius Maximus in the British Museum. That sovereign is there repre- 
sented amongst a company of women, with their distaffs secured in their girdles. 
See a very interesting and valuable paper on distaffs by Mr. Akerman, in the 
Archseologia, vol. 37. 

Wliere is the earl of Wiltshire ? 

AYiUiam Scroope, second son of Henry Lord Scroope of Masham. He had 
been seneschal of Aquitaine in 6 Hie. II., and was highly esteemed by the king, 
who poured his favours upon him with an unsparing hand, especially towards the 
close of his reign. In 7 Eic. II., he obtained certain grants of money for his 
support, payable out of the customs, and in 9 Eic. II. was made governor of the 



castle of Cherbourg. He was vice-chamberlain of the household 16 Eic. II., 
presented with the town and castle of Marlborough 17 Eic. II., and appointed 
governor of Queenborough, Beaumaris, and Bamborough castles, chamberlain of 
Ireland, Justice of Chester, North Wales, and Elint, created Earl of Wiltshire, and 
enriched with large portions of the confiscated estates of the Earls of Warwick 
and Arundel, from the 20 to the 22 Eic. II. inclusive. He had been of the 
commission for the marriage of Eichard with Isabel. It is said that he purchased 
the lordship of the Isle of Man of the Earl of Salisbury ; yet, owing to some un- 
explained circumstance, Salisbury continued to use the title as long as he lived. 
Scroope had recently been appointed captain of the castle of Calais, and constable 
of the castles of Guisnes and Knaresborough, and was retained to serve with the 
king in Ireland, with forty men at arms, and one hundred archers on horseback, 
to be shipped to and fro at the king's charge ; and he had received a quarter's pay 
in advance for himself and his retinue ; but, being one of the chief counsellors, he 

remained at home, with the very few who were well affected to the king, for the 
security of the realm. Henry took liim at Bristol, with Sir John Bushy and Sir 
Henry Green, and beheaded him in compliance, as he professed, with the wishes 
of the people. The very act was treason, by the statute, 25 Edw. III. st. 5, c. 12, 
" If a man slea the treasurer of the king, it ought to be judged treason." This 
shews how strongly he committed himself in the outset ; for, though he might 
pretend that it was done as a concession to the popular fury, he must have known 
that the responsibility of it, if it should be enquired into, would fall upon himself. 
Probably he owed Scroope no good will for his connexion with the castle of 
Knaresborough. Walsingham gives a most unfavourable account of the Earl of 
Wiltshire, — " Vir, in quo fsicj in humano genere de facili non invenietur nequior 
aut criidelior." About ten years before, he had been guilty of some gross outrage 
against the Bishop of Durham, for which he made amends, according to the 
fashion of the day, by offering a jewel at the shrine of Saint Cutlibert, of the value 
of five hundred pounds. The king was unfortunate in the personal character of 
too many of those whom he injudiciously selected for his advisers and friends ; and 



his weakness was only equalled by liis obstinacy respecting tliem. One of liis ad- 
mirers has confessed, that " King- Richard of England was of a temper, that when 
he took a liking to any one, he instantly raised him to high honours, and had such 
confidence in him that no one dared to say anytliing to his prejudice." — TFelh. 

Where is Bagot ? 

Here are four of them named ; and, within a very few lines, the King hearing 
they had made their peace with Bolingbroke, calls them three Judasses. But 
their peace was made by the loss of their heads. This being explained, Aumerle 
says : — " Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire dead ?" So that Bagot 
ought to be left out of the question : and, indeed, he had made the best of his way 
for Chester, and from thence had escaped into Ireland. — Theobald. 

Theobald alters Bagot to he got, an emendation which Warburton adopts. 
Hanmer leaves a blank after Wiltshire. I believe the author, rather than tran- 
scriber, made a mistake. " Where is he got," does not sound in my ear like an 
expression of Shakespeare. — Johnson. 

I agree with Johnson in thinking that this was a mistake of the author's, 
because we find a mistake of tlie same nature in the second Act, where 
Bolingbroke says that Bristol Castle was held by Bushy and Bagot ; yet it is cer- 
tain that Bagot was not taken at Bristol, for we find him afterwards accusing 
Aumerle of treason ; and in the parting scene between him. Green, and Bushy, 
he declares his intention of flying to the King in Ireland. — M. Mason. 

Perhaps Shakespeare intended to mark more strongly the perturbation of the 
King by making him inquire at first for Bagot, whose loyalty, on further recollec- 
tion, might show him the impropriety of his question. — Malone. 

In the hollow ground. 

Warburton reads, hallow' d ground, but it was by no means certain that men, 
who had been executed as traitors, were buried in hallowed ground. We should 
therefore reinstate the old reading, hollow ground, alluding to the hollowness of 
their graves. — Heath. 

And that same model of the barren ea/rth. 

Model, or module, seems to be equivalent to a small portion. Cockeram 
explains it, " a part of one's self." It is a Latinisra from, modulus, the measure 
or quantity of a thing, a little measure. 

The ghosts they have depos'd. 

Ghosts they have deposed, ghosts of those whom they have deposed. This 
sort of ellipsis is very frequently used by our poet. The modern editors, in the 
room of have depos'd, substituted dispossessed. — Steevens. 

And there the antic sits. 

The term antic was applied to any grotesque figure, especially to the quaint 
designs, both in drawing and carving, which are found in our ancient churches. 
Hence Death, which was frequently personified and represented by the ecclesiastical 
artists, is appropriately termed an antic. " Thou antic death," Eirst Part of Henry 
the Sixth. " The handle (of the pail) with such anticks is imbraced, as one would 
thinck they leapt above the ground," Ould Eacioued Love, 1594. In one of the 
woodcuts in the Imagines Mortis is one (here engraved) which is generally con- 
sidered to have been known to Shakespeare, although it is more probable he 
had in his memory one of the grotesque adornments of a church. The woodcut 
referred to is the picture of an emperor seated on a throne, and holding in his 



hand the sword of state ; he is attentively 
listening to an advocate pleading in a 
soothing tone against an unfortunate 
peasant, who trembling waits in the most 
suppliant posture the decree that is to 
determine his fate. Death at this moment 
displays all his power; he proudly takes 
possession of the bottom of the throne, 
and is carelessly leaning Ms arm on the 
MonarcKs crowti. 

The Chapter-house there is very fayre, 
and not much short of any wee yet 
saw, wherein are ten fayre square built 
windows of antique worJce in good colours : 
It is adorn'd on the walles with forty- 
six old pictures, curiously drawne, and sett outt, Christ and his twelve Apostles, &c. 
—MS. Lansd. 213. 

Neither, when thou gapest, yawl, and roar, as some do, for that ill beseems a 
man ; briefly, as much as in the lies, refrain from gaping often in company, that 
those thou dost converse with, may not fancy that the oven is gotten into the 
parlour, or that one of the wide-mouthed anticks over the church porch is come 
amongst them. — Counsellor Manners his Last Legacy to his Son, 1673. 


It has been proposed to read, addition, but in the following speech, the word 
tradition is us'd in a sense uncommon and probably peculiar to Shakespeare, 
namely, established or customary homage paid to superiors. — Warner. 

Go, to Flint castle. 

Holinshed is correct in describing Hichard as going first to Conway, but some 
of the chroniclers represent him as travelling at once from Milford to Flint castle. 
" King Richard beyng in Ireland, and nowe heeryng of the Dukes arryvall in 
England, hastened not a little to set all thinges there in order, and returned into 
England, and landed at Mylforde Haven, in the beginnyng of September, and 
from thence passed unto the Castell of Flynt in Wales ten myles distant from 
Chester, and there rested him and his people, entendyng there to have gathered 
a great power, and to have set upon the Duke. But in this meane time, the 
aforesaid Duke, who had proclaymed himselfe Duke of Lancaster, in the right of 
his father John of Gaunt, was come to Bristow and there without resistance tooke 
Sir William Scrope Erie of Wiltshyre, and high Treasurer of England, Sir John 
Bushy, and Sir Henry Grene, who foorthwith were adjudged, and were beheaded. 
There was also taken Sir John Bagot, but he escaped, and fled into Ireland," 
Grafton's Chronicle. 

From Richard's night to Bolinghrohe' s fair day. 

In dearth of faith and scarsity of friends. 
The late great mighty monarch on the shore 
In th' utmost corner of his land attends 
To call backe false obedience fled before ; 
Toyles, and in vaine, his toile and labour spends, 
More hearts he sought to gaine he lost the more : 
AU turn'd their faces to the rising sunne. 
And leaves his setting-fortune night begun. 

BanieVs Civill Wars of England, 1599. 



^® With martial music and colours. 

" King Bichard, having heard mass, went up upon the walls of the castle, which 
are large and wide on tlie inside, beholding the duke of Lancaster as he came along 
the sea-shore with all his host. It was marvellously great, and shewed such joy and 
satisfaction that the sound and bruit of tlieir instruments, horns, buisines, and 
trumpets, were heard even as far as the castle. Then did he commend himself 
into the holy keeping of our Lord and of all the saints of heaven in this manner, 
— ' Alas ! now see I plainly that the end of my days draweth nigh, since I must 
needs be delivered into the hands of mine enemies, who mortally hate me that 
have never deserved it. Surely, Earl of Northumberland, thou shouldst have 
great fear and dread of lieart, lest our Lord God take vengeance upon the sin 
which thou didst commit when thou swaredst so foully by him to draw us forth 
from Conway, where we were right secure. Now for this may God reward thee," 
Creton's Chronicle. The latter allusion is to the disgraceful treachery of 
Northumberland in forswearing himself at the altar at Conway. 

" I shall treat, in this part, of the afflictions and sorrows of King Richard in 
the castle of Elint, when he awaited the coming of the Duke of Lancaster ; who 
set out from the city of Cliester on Tuesday the 2 2d day of August, in the year of 
the incarnation of our Lord 1399, with the whole of his force; which J heard 
estimated by many knights and squires at upwards of one hundred thousand men, 
marshalled in battle array, marching along the sea shore with great joy and satis- 
faction, and eager also to take their rightful and natural lord King Richard," 
Creton's Chronicle. Stowe, following Creton, says, — " the two and twentie day 
of August, the King got him to the castell wals, where he beheld the Duke, with 
al his host of an hundred thousand men, comming by the sands." Ehnt Castle 
stands upon a rock in a marsh, jetting out towards the sea. 

With some few private friends. 

All things conspire to shew the deserted condition in which the king was now 
placed. Some of the MSS. mention that when Richard rode away from the army 
at Milford-haven, he was accompanied by a body of horse ; but, if this were true, 
they soon deserted him. Secrecy being a great object in his flight, the account of 
our narrative is more worthy of credit, which limits the number of attendants on that 
journey to thirteen. Of these we afterwards hear nothing concerning the Duke of 
Gloucester, or the Bishops of Lincoln and Saint David's ; and as little is said of 
the hundred men who came over with the Earl of Salisbury from Ireland. After 
the departure of the Dukes of Exeter and Surrey, the whole party, nobles and others, 
then at Conway, are estimated at only sixteen ; and all that could be mustered 
as an escort in this perilous undertaking amounted to no more than twenty-one. The 
principal persons composing this troop, as they are distinctly enumerated shortly 
after their capture, were, exclusive of the king, the Earl of Salisbury, the Bishop 
of Carlisle, Sir Stephen Scroope, Jenico, Eerriby, the author and his companion; 
the rest might be inferior servants of the court, or mere domestics. Among these 
unquestionably was the famous Owen Glyndwr, at that time a squire in Richard's 
service ; and probably Gwillim ap Tudor, another Welsh squire about his person, 
whom he had retained with a pension of ten pounds in the preceding year ; and 
who afterwards, together with his brother Rhys, as generals under Glyndwr, 
struggled against Henry IV. in the Welsh war ; perhaps also may be added to 
the list John Pallet and Richard Seimer; should these personages not be fictitious 
whom Hall introduces as assured servants of the king, endeavouring at Elint to 
favour his escape. — Webb. 



For taking so the head, your whole head's length. 

" To take the head" says Dr. Johnson, " is to act without restraint ; to take 
undue liberties." It is presumed it rather means to take away or omit the 
sovereign's chief and usual title ; a construction which considerably augments the 
play on words that is here intended, upon head, as meaning, at once, " hostile 
advance, or unbridled course" — and its common implication. — Douce. In some 
editions, your is erroneously altered to the. 

Sir Ste-phen Scroop. 

The king had no more with him than two or three of his intimate friends, sad 
and distressed. There was the courteous Earl of Salisbury, and the great and 
upright Bishop of Carlisle : Eerriby was also with them, who was not very secure, 
for the duke hated him ; I cannot tell the reason, but I think he greatly dreaded 
him. Moreover there was another good friend, whom I heard called Sir Stephen 
Scroope ; I saw him frequently with the king at that time. My companion and 
myself were there. Every one was very uneasy for himself, with sufficient cause. 
Reckoning nobles and other persons, we were but sixteen in all. Now, considering 
the power, possessions and grandeur of King Richard, who was so great a lord, 
reflect what mischief, torment, and grief for him to be thus dealt with by treason, 
and by fortune, who at all times hath power and authority, severe as she is, to 
undo those whom she pleases. — Creton's Chronicle. 

^ Nolle lord. 

It is observable that our author, in his addresses to persons, often begins with 
an hemistich. This observation may be of use in other places, where in the old 
copies, by the mistake of the transcriber, the metre is destroyed by this regulation 
not being observed. — Malone. 

When, lo, from Lancaster, 

(The new entitl'd Duke) with order sent 

Arriv'd Northumberland as to confer. — Civil Wars, ii. 21. 

That from the castle s tatter d hattlements. 

Tottered in the quartos of 1597 and 1598 ; " tattered" in the quartos of 1608, 
1615, and the folios. Boswell suggested that tottered was put for tottering, but 
the oldest mode of spelling tattered was tottered : consequently, "tattered battle- 
ments" merely means ragged battlements : if the battlements were tottering, they 
would have been no very good defence for the King. We may add one proof 
of what we have advanced from the old play of the Alarum for London, 1603, 
which is peculiarly apposite : — 

Whose streetes besmear'd with blood, whose blubber'd eyes. 
Whose tottered walls, whose buildings overthrowne, &c. — Collier. 

I believe we should read tatter' d instead of totter' d; so in the Second Part of 
Henry IV. Richmond calls Northumberland's Castle, — " This icorm-eaten hold of 
ragged stone," an expression synonimous to tatter'd. — Seymour. 

I pray you but note the streetes, and the chambers or lodgings in Elect street 
or the Strand, how they are pestered with them, especially after a mask or a play 
at the court, where even the very earth quakes and trembles, the casements 
shatter, tatter and clatter, and such a confused noise is made, as if all the divels in 
hell were at barly-breake. — Taylor s Worhes, 1630. 

The passive is so frequently used for the active participle, it is certainly in our 
discretion to read totter d in the sense of tottering. 




*^ Of fire and icater, iclien their tlmndring shock. 

Shod; ed. 1597 ; smol-e, other eds. Compare the Eirst Part of Henry the 
Fourth, the passage commencing-, — " those opposed eyes," &c. " Aristotle saith, 
that thunder is nought else, but quenching of fire in a clowde. Eor dry vapour 
arreareth and setteth it on fire and on flame, with heate of the aire, and when it 
is closed in a clowde it is sodeinly quenched. And of such quenching the noise of 
thunder is gendered. As when firie hot yron is quenched in water, it maketh 
greate hoyling and noyse," Batman upon Bartholome, 1582. 

^ The Bishop of Carlisle. 

Thomas Merkes, who was consecrated in 1397, " a man," as Bishop Godwin 
observes, " very deserving of that honour ; for he was a man both learned and 
wise ; but principally to be commended for his constant, and un moveable fidelity 
to his patron and protector. King Eichard ; for his excellent courage in professing 
the same, when he might safely and honestly have conceal'd his affection." 

^ See, see, king Richard doth himself appear. 

So all the old copies ; and, with Mr. Collier, I consider it better to follow them 
here than to assign the whole of this to York, — as is done by the more recent 
editors, who think, with Warburton, that, according to the original distribution of 
the speeches, " Bolingbroke is made to condemn his own conduct and to disculp 
the king's." If I were to venture on any alteration, I should prefer giving, 
" See, see," &c. to Percy : compare his last speech in the preceding page. — 

Why the lines that Bolingbroke ends with, following Richard's entry, should 
be taken from him and given to York, as in the fourth and fifth moderns, is not 
seen by the editor ; there is in them no " condemning" himself or " disculping" 
Eichard, as that gentleman sets forth who rests his change on those reasons ; that 
is, none so considerable either way as should make removal expedient : and for 
York's speaking them, — nothing can be unfitter ; their evil junction consider'd 
with those sentiments which editions do give him on this occasion. — Capell. 

In every old edition, quarto and folio, this and the preceding five lines are 
given to Bolingbroke, and there is no sufficient reason for taking them from him, 
and giving them to York, as has been done by all the editors since the time of 
Warburton, some with and others without notice. It is not at all inconsistent 
with the character of Bolingbroke, and with what he has before said of Eichard, 
that he should now so speak of him ; and, as has been remarked, all the 
authorities are in favour of the restoration. After he has so spoken, and after 
York's answer, we must suppose Bolingbroke to retire with York, and to leave 
the conduct of the interview to Northumberland, until he rejoins Bolingbroke just 
before Eichard descends to the plain. Eichard's observation to Northumberland, 
" Eor yond', methinks, he stands," shows that Bolingbroke was not out of sight. 
— Collier. 

That any harm should stain so fair a show. 

The substitution of storm for harm, is an exceedingly doubtful emendation. 
It is true that, in a previous part of the speech, the king is likened to the setting 
sun, whose glory " the envious clouds are bent to dim ;" and therefore the word 
storm has some show of reason to recommend it, and harm may possibly have been 
a misprint. But we rather think that it is the right word, and that it is more 
natural and pathetic than the word storm. — Anon. 



^® To loatcli the fearful bending of tliy knee. 

Eicliard was extremely punctilious in all that related to reverence for his 
dignity. According to the Brute Chronicle, " the kyng in solenne daiez and 
grete festis, in the whiche he wered his croune and wente in his rial aray, he leet 
ordeyne and make in his charabir, a trone, wherynne he was wont to sitte fro aftir 
mete unto evensong tyme, spekynge to no man, but overlokyng alle menn ; and 
vf he loked on eny mann, what astat or degre tliat evir he were of, he moste 

The purple testament of bleeding war. 

"I once thought," says Malone, " that Shakespeare might have had the sacred 
book (which is frequently covered with purple leather) in his thoughts;" but he 
adds, that this supposition is rendered extremely doubtful by the interpretation of 
Steevens ; who believes that Shakespeare uses the word testament in its legal 
sense. " Bolingbroke," says he, " is come to open the testament of war, that he 
may peruse what is decreed there in his favour. Purple is an epithet referring to 
the future effusion of blood." Compare a passage in Julius Cassar, — " Now, 
while your purpled hands do reek and smoke." Whatever be the direct meaning 
of the words in question, I am persuaded that the idea of a hook with a purple 
covering suggested this combination of words to the mind of our poet. Compare 
the following line from the First Part of Jeronimo ; which perhaps might be 
produced as an instance of a passage completely parallel : — " Then I unclasp the 
purple leaves of icar^ Shakespeare has himself often derived his metaphor from 
the binding of a book, — " How would he look to see his icorh^ so noble, — Vilely 
bound lip r — Whiter. " Her rivers dide — with purple streaming wounds of her 
owne rage," Daniel's Civill Wars of England, 1599. 

There are numerous metaphorical allusions in Shakespeare to the art of book- 
binding as displayed in the very rich covers of books of the fifteenth and sixteenth 
centuries, some of which were elaborated in a style of art unsurpassed at the 
present day. In Lord Londesborough's museum is preserved a bookcover of the 
fifteenth century, one of the finest known, which is remarkable for the variety of 
artistic labour it displays. The central subject, representing Christ casting out 
devils, is chased in low-relief, within a sunken panel. The figures of Truth and 
Good Fortune, on each side, are engraved and the lines filled with niello; the 
hatched surface has been originally covered with the same material. The oblong- 
compartments above and below are occupied by ornaments elaborately chased in 
high-relief. The circular bosses, in each corner, are filled with translucid enamels, 
representing saints, and the arms of the cardinal for whom the work was con- 
structed. The whole is of silver ; the entire border gilt. 

^ But ere the crown he looks for live in peace. 

Dr. Warburton reads — " light in peace," but " live in peace" is more suitable 
to Eichard's intention, which is to tell him, that though he should get the crown 
by rebellion, it will be long before it will live in peace, be so settled as to be firm. 
" The flower of England's face," is very happily explained. — Johnson. '■'Give him 
peace," has also been suggested. 

Shall ill become the flower of England's face. 

By " the flower of England's face" is meant " the choicest youths of England, 
who shall be slaughtered in this quarrel, or have bloody croicns." " The flower of 
England's face," to design her choicest youth, is a fine and noble expression. 


Pericles, by a similar tliouglit, said "that the destruction of the Athenian 
youth was a fatality like cutting off the spring from the year." — JFar- 

" The flower of England's face," I believe, means, England's flowery face, the 
flowery surface of England's soil. The same kind of expression is used in Sidney's 
Arcadia : " — opening the cherry of her lips," i. e. her cherry lips. Again, 
p. 2-iO, edit. 1633 : " — the sweet and beautiful flower of her face.'' We have, 
shortly afterwards, irords of sooth, for soothing icorils. It has been proposed to 
alter face to race, but unnecessarily. Again, Drayton, in Mortimer's Epistle to 
Queen Isabell : 

And in the field advance our plumy crest. 

And march upon fair England's flowry breast. — Steevens. 

TVe have a similar image in the first speech of Henry IV. Part I. : 

No more the thirsty entrance of this soil. 

Shall daub her lij)S with her own children's blood. — Boswell. 

A contest for a crown can never be determined, in these works, without a pun 
or two ; but it is strange that Steevens should have gone so far out of the way for 
the meaning of " the flower of England's face," which is clearly — the chosen 
youth of England ; and Eichard only remarks that those youths, thus mangled 
and besmeared, will exhibit a pale or white and ghastly countenance. — Mason. 

The words face and peace have, perliaps, changed places. Ere the crown he 
hopes to obtain be settled peaceably on his head, ten thousand crowns, besmeared 
with blood, shall disfigure the flower of the peaceable nobihty of England ; and 
cause her maid-pale countenance to glow with indignation, &c. The double 
opposition between crown and peace is much in our author's manner. — Malone. 

" Flower of England's face" is — her flowry surface, in language of poetry, the 
flowers that grow on her face ; upon these, a number of bloody crowns were an 
unsuitable object and unsightly, and must therefore be ill-becoming, that is, 
unbecoming. — Capell. 

And these beginnings had this impious warre, 
Th' ungodly bloudshed that did so defile 
The beauty of thy fields, and even did marre 
The flowre of thy chiefe pride, O fairest ile. 

DanieVs Civil I JFars of England, 1599. 

'"'^ This swears he, as he is a prince, is just. 

The correct reading of the folio. The quartos of 1597 and 1598 have, " as he 
is a princesse just," and the quartos of 1608 and 1615, "as he is a prince, just." 
Is, before just, does not appear in the quarto, but seems a necessary emendation. 
"A prince is just," is here " a prince who is just," by an ellipsis common enough : 
but we might read as just; as (he is) just. — Seymour. 

With words of sooth. 

Sooth is sweet as well as true. In this place sooth means sweetness or softness, 
a signification yet retained in the verb to sooth. — Johnson. 

I'll give my jeicels for a set of beads. 

The expression jewels was not formerly restricted to the same articles 
to which the term is now applied. The annexed cut is taken from a 



manuscript in the British Museum, well known 
by the title of Queen Mary's Psalter, and belong- 
ing to the end of the thirteenth or beginning of 
the fourteenth century, MS. Reg. 2, b. vii. It 
is intended to represent the covetousness of king 
Joshua, who is laying up in his treasure-chest a 
quantity of money, brooches, rings, and cups. 
All these were, in the middle ages, included 
under the names oi jeioels (in Latin /om/M, from 
jociis, as being articles of amusement and not of 
use ; and in old French, jottelles, joiaus, joy ax, 
&c.), and haglies or hagues (identical with the 
Anglo-Saxon beag, or heJi). — T. Wright. 

My gay apparel, for an alms-man'' s gown. 

"Eertur tamen quod inter alias hujus mundi divitias fecit sibi fieri, unam 
tunicam de perillis, et aliis lapidibus preciosis, et auro ex propria ordinatione 
factam, ad 3000 marcarum in valorem appreciatam," Vit. Ricardi Secundi a 
monacho quodam de Evesham, Edit, a Tho. Hearne, p. 156. Confirm'd by StoAv, 
Annals, p. 319, — " This year (1399) the king caused a garment for himself to be 
made of gold, silver, and precious stones, to the value of 3000 marks." 

My figur'd gohlets for a dish of tcood. 

This allusion cannot be considered an 
anachronism, though "figured goblets" 
were more in fashion in the sixteenth 
than in the fourteenth century. In the 
subject of the accompanying woodcut, 
now in Lord Londesborough's collection, 
the cup, that is the head, is formed of 
jade-stone, mounted in silver chased and 
gilt. It belongs, no doubt, to the six- 
teenth century, and the silver mounting 
is evidently European; but, as jade is a 
substance peculiar to the far East, and 
scarcely ever found in Western European 
manufactures, this circumstance, and the 
general cliaracter of the face and head, 
seem to justify us in supposing that that 
part of the cup had been brought home 
by some of the venturesome navigators of the sixteenth century, and mounted, 
perhaps, by a Erencli silversmith. — T. Wright. 

Some icay of common trade. 

" Some way of common trade'' is some way of frequent resort,- a common 
course ; as, at present, " a road of much traffic," that is, frequent resort. So, in 
Lord Surrey's translation of the second book of Virgil's J^neid : — • 

A postern with a blind wicket there was, 

A common trade, to pass through Priam's house. 

The phrase is still used by common people. When they speak of a road 
much frequented, they say, " it is a road of much traffic.'' Shakespeare uses the 



word in the same sense in King Henry VIII. : — " Stand in the gap and trade of 
1 n ore p referm cj/fs." — Stc evens. 

A\ liich testilie that these sots (briefely described by Salomon in his Ecclesiastes, 
chapter 2. verse 2.) being drunke with vaine pleasures, have past their bounds, in 
such sort, as the way of Appia which is one of the greatest trudc-wayes in Rome, 
is over-little for tliem, to wit, that they cannot indure in one place, beeing 
incessantly transported with the winde of their voluptuousnesse. — A Learned 
Summary upon Bu Bartas, 1G21. 

There lies two hinsmen. 

This old-fashioned grammatical inaccuracy is necessarily retained here on 
account of the rhyme, but in an old prom])t copy of the play, dated 1727, corrected, 
according to the books nsed at the London theatres at that time, by Iloberts the 
player, lies is altered to lie. Several other alterations of tlie text, and erasures of 
lines and speeches for the convenience of representation, are made in the same 
copy, but they are of no authority and of very small if any value, for it is in the 
highest degree improbable that the theatres, at so late a date, possessed acting 
copies of any of Shakespeare's plays which contained any authorised corrections or 

And Bolinghrol'e says — I. 

It must be recollected that ay was pronounced /, and it is, in fact, so printed 
in all plays of the time of Shakespeare. The old orthography is preserved here 
on account of the rhyme, as it is again in Romeo and Juliet on account of a 

Li the hase-court he doth attend. 

The base-court was the first or outer court of a castle or large mansion. 
" Into the hase-court then she did me lead," Tower of Doctrine. Thus in 
Cavendish's Life of Wolsey: — "My lord being advertised that the duke was 
coming, even at hand, he caused all his gentlemen to wait upon him down 
through the hall into the base courts So, in Ilinde's Eliosto Libidinoso, 1606 : 
" — they were, for a public observation, brought into the lase court of the 
palace." Again, in Greene's Farewell to Follie, 1617: " — began, at the 
entrance into the hase court, to use these words." — Steevens. 

According to Stowe, — "the Earle of Northumberland wente forthe to the 
Duke, who after long talke, concluded that the duke should not enter the castel 
before the King had dyned, for he was fasting; so the Earle returned, and the 
King was set to dynner, with whome sate his assured friends the Earle of 
Salisburie, and the Bishop of Carlile, sir Steven Scrope, and Eeribe ; they sat 
long and eate little, for they had no haste to rise. After dinner, the Duke entred 
the castel all armed, his basenet excepted. King Richard came downe to meete 
the Duke, who as soone as he saw the King, fell downe on hys knees, and 
comming neare unto him, he kneeled the second time with his hat in his hand, 
and the King then put off his hoode, and spake first, — faire cousin of Lancaster, 
yee are righte welcome. The Duke bowing lowe to the grounde answeared, my 
Lord, I am come before you sent for me, the reason why I wil shew you. The 
common fame among your people is suche, that yee have for the space of twentie 
or two and twentie yeares, ruled them very rigorously, but, if it please our Lorde, 
I will helpe you to governe better. The Kyng aunswered, fayre cousin of 
Lancaster, sith it pleaseth you, it pleaseth mee wel." 



And show fair duty to his majesty. 

"After this the duke entered the castle, armed at all points, except his basinet, 
as you may see in this history. Then they made the king, who had dined in the 
donjon, come down to meet Duke Henry, who, as soon as he perceived him at a 
distance, bowed very low to the ground ; and as they approaclied each other he 
bowed a second time, with his cap in his hand ; and then the king took off his 
bonnet, and spake first in this manner ; — " Eair cousin of Lancaster, you be right 
welcome." Then Duke Henry replied, bowing very low to the ground, " My 
Lord, I am come sooner than you sent for me : the reason wherefore I will teil 
you. The common report of your people is such, that you have, for the space of 
twenty or two and twenty years, governed them very badly and very rigorously, 
and in so much that they are not well contented therewith. But if it please our 
Lord, I will help you to govern tbem better than they have been governed in time 
past." King Eichard then answered him, " Eair cousin, since it pleaseth you, it 
pleaseth us well." And be assured that these are the very words that they two 
spake together, without taking away or adding any thing ; for I heard and under- 
stood them very well. And the Earl of Salisbury also rehearsed them to me in 
French, and another aged kniglit who was one of the council of Duke Henry," 
Creton's narrative. 

You debase your princely hiee. 

The Duke when come in presence of his king. 
Whether the sight of majestic did breed 
Eemorse of wrong which reverence did bring ; 
Or whether but to formahze his deed. 
He kneel es him downe even at his entering, 
Eose, kneeles againe (for craft will still exceed) 
When as the king approcht, put off his hood 
And welcomd him, though wishd him little good. 

DanieVs Civill Wars of England, 1599. 

'^^ Thus high at least. 

On the stage, there is a peculiar interpretation consisting in uttering the 
permission to rise, first in a tone of bland condescension, and then finishing the 
sentence with a burst of wrath and a smart tap on the forehead to signify that 
" thus high" means as high as the seat of the Eoyal diadem. — Anon. 

Decker seems to have imitated this speech in his Wonder of a Kingdom, 

nay, nay, pray rise ! 

I know your heart is up though your knee's down. 

Then I must not say, no. 
The Duke, with a high sharpe voyce, bad bring foorth the King's horses, and 
then two little nagges, not worth fourtie franks, were brought forth : tlie king- 
was set on the one, and the Earle of Salisburie on the other ; and thus the Duke 
brought the king from Elint to Chester, where he was delivered to the Duke of 
Glocesters sonne, and to the Earle of Arundels sonne, that loved him but little, 
for he had put their fathers to death, who ledde him straight to the Castle. — 
Stoice's Chronicle. 

'^'^ Enter the Queen, and tico Ladies. 

The simplicity of the ancient English stage is referred to in a description by 
Sir Philip Sydney, who, describing the state of the drama and the stage in his 



time, about 1583, says: — "Now, you shall have three ladies walk to gather 
flowers, and then you must believe the stage to be a garden. By-and-by, we have 
news ol" a shipwreck in the same place ; then we are to blame if we accept it not 
for a rock. Upon the back of that comes out an hideous monster, with fire and 
smoke, and the miserable beholders are bound to take it for a cave ; while, in the 
mean time, two armies fly in, represented, with four swords and bucklers, 
and then what hard heart will not receive it for a pitched field ?" 

•'^ And I could sing. 

Pope altered sing to weep, but the old reading, *' And I could sing," &c. is, I 
believe, the true one : the lady had said, " Madam, I'll sing ;" to which the queen 
replies — " thou wou'dst please me better, wou'dst thou weep." The lady then 
says : — " I could weep, madam, would it do you good." " And if weeping," says 
the queen, " would do me good, I could rejoice at it, and sing ; for in the abundance 
of my tears I should have security for my happiness." The quaintness of the 
conceit is not of force to invalidate its reality. — Seymour. 

Woe is forerun idtli woe. 

The poet, according to the common doctrine of prognostication, supposes 
dejection to forerun calamity, and a kingdom to be filled with rumours of sorrow 
when any great disaster is impending. The sense is, that public evils are 
always presignified by public pensiveness, and plaintive conversation. — Johnson. 

Warburton alters the last word of this line to, mocks, but there is certainly no 
ground for this emendation, which is neither pertinent to the context, nor is the 
proposition which it expresses true. Eor woe is seldom fore-run by mocks, seldom 
mocked at till it actually happens, though it be too frequently attended with them 
afterwards. In this latter case indeed inferiors are too apt to take this advantage 
of the condition of their betters, but not till that condition is determined, or fore- 
seen with the same certainty as if it were determined. The meaning of the 
common reading, — " Woe is fore-run with woe," is a very just one. Woe seldom 
befalls us without being preceded by some other woe, some mortification or other, 
which gives us the first notice of it. — Heath. 

Our firm estate. 

Warburton alters out to a. The servant says our, meaning the state of the 
garden in which they are at work. The state of the metaphorical garden was 
indeed infirm, and therefore his reasoning is very naturally induced. Why, 
says he, should we be careful to preserve order in the narrow cincture of this our 
state, when the great state of the kingdom is in disorder? — Steevens. 

^'^ Her knots disorder' d. 
Alluding to the knots, or fantastic garden-beds. The "curious knotted 
garden" is alluded to in Love's Labour's Lost, act i. sc. 1. So, also, Milton, — 

Elowers, worthy Paradise, which not nice art 
In beds and curious knots, but nature boon 
Pour'd forth. 

We, at time of year, do wound the hark. 

The word %ce is not in the old copies. The context shows that some word 
was omitted at the press; and the subsequent lines — " — superfluous branches 

— We lop away ," render it highly probable that this was the word. — Malone. 

Bo wound, quarto eds., altered in the foho to, and tcound. 



'^^ 'Tis doubt, lie will be. 

We have already had an instance of this uncommon phraseology in the pre- 
sent play : — 

He is our cousin, cousin ; but 'tis doubt, 
When time shall call him home, &c. 

Doubt is the reading of the quarto, 1597. The folio r^didis— doubted. I have 
found reason to believe that some alteration even in that valuable copy was made 
arbitrarily by the editor. — Malone. 

'^^ I am pressed to death, through want of speahing. 

The poet alludes to the ancient legal punishment, called peine forte et dure, 
which was inflicted on those persons, who, being arraigned, refused to plead, 
remaining obstinately silent. They were pressed to death by a heavy weight laid 
upon their stomach. — Malone. 

''^ Thou, old Adams likeness. 

This was cut down by Pope to, — " Thou Adam's likeness, set to dress this 
garden, — How dares thy tongue sound this unpleasing news?" In the second 
line, for the sake of consistency, I have altered " this implea.siii[/ newes" to " these 
unpleasing news ;" — all the 4tos and the folio having, in the next speech, " To 
breath these newes," and the 4to of 1597, in the second speech after, " these news 
of woe," subsequently printed, " this news of woe." — Dyce. 

'^^ Set to dress this garden. 

This was the technical language of Shakespeare's time. So, in Holy Writ : 
" — and put him into the garden of Eden, to dress it, and to keep it," Gen. ii. 
15. — Malone. " I dresse, I set upryght, or sette a thing strayght," Palsgrave, 
1530. " Shut that chest; put up safe this household stuffe ; call the nurse that 
shee sweepe and dresse this lodging," Minsheu's Pleasant and Delightfull 
Dialogues, 1623. 

Thij harsh-rttde tongue. 

So, in Hamlet ; — " What have I done, that thou darst wag thy tongue — In 
noise so rude against me?" 1 have quoted this passage only to justify the resto- 
ration of the word rude, which has been rejected in some modern editions, 
following ed. 1632. A line in King John may add support to the restoration 
here made from the old copy : — " To whom he sung in rude harsh-sounding 
rhymes." — Malone. 



Here did she fall a tear. 

This is the reading of the quarto, 1597, and, doubtless, the language of 
Shakespeare. The later quartos and folios substitute drop for " fall." In Othello, 
a. iv. sc. 1, we have a corresponding expression, — "Each drop she/^///s would 

prove a crocodile," So in the Comedy of Errors, " as easy may'st thou fall 

— A drop of water." And in A Midsummer-Night's Dream, we meet with, " her 
mantle she did fall." It would be easy to point out other instances in which 
Shakespeare uses to fall as a verb active. — Collier. 

Bite, even for ruth. 

Bite, the herb, was also a common subject of puns, from being the same word 
which signified sorrow or pity. — 

That bed, which did all joys display, 
Became a bed of rue. — B. Brathicaite. 

SCENE. — London. Westminster Hall.^ 

The Lords Spiritual on the right side^ of the Throne ; the Lords 
Temporal on the left ; the Commons heloiv. Enter Boling- 


Fitz-walter/ another Lord, the Bishop of Carlisle, the 
Abbot of Westminster, Attendants. 

Boling. Call forth Bagot. — 

Enter Officers, idth Bagot. 

Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind ; 
What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ; 
Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd 
The bloody office of his timeless end. 

Bagot. Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle. 

Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. 

Bagot. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue 
Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. 
In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, 
I heard you say, — " Is not my arm of length, 
That reachetli from the restful English court 
As far as Calais, to my uncle's head ?" 

IX. 21 



[act IV. 

Amongst nmcli other talk, that very time, 
I heard you say that you liad rather refuse 
The offer of an liundred thousand crowns 
Tlian Bolingbroke's return to England ; 
Adding withal, how blest this land would be 
In this your cousin's death. 

Amn. Princes, and noble lords, 

What answer shall I make to this base man ? 
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,* 
On equal terms to give him chastisement ? 
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd 
AVith the attainder of his slanderous lips. — 
There is my gage, the manual seal of death,^ 
That marks thee out for hell : I say, thou liest. 
And will maintain what thou hast said is false 
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 
To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 

Boling. Bagot, forbear ; thou shalt not take it up. 

Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best 
In all this presence that hath mov'd me so. 

Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathies,^ 
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine : 
By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'st, 
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, 
That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. 
If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest ; 
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, 
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. ^ 

Amn. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. 

Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. 

Aum. Fitz-walter, thou art damn'd to hell for this. 

Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honour is as true 
In this appeal as thou art all unjust ; 
And that thou art so, there I throw my gage. 
To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
Of mortal breatiiing : seize it, if thou dar'st. 

Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off. 
And never brandish more revengeful steel 
Over the glittering helmet of my foe I 

Lord. I task the earth to the like,^ forsworn Aumerle ; 
And spur thee on with full as many lies 
As mav be holla'd in thv treacherous ear 



From sun to sun ;^ there is iny honour's pawn ; 
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 

Amn. Who sets me else ? by heaven, I'll throw at all 
I have a thousand spirits in one breast. 
To answer twenty thousand such as you. 

Surrey. My Lord Fitz-walter, I do remember well 
The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 

Fitz. 'Tis very true : you were in presence then ; 
And you can witness with me this is true. 

Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. 

Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. 

Surrey. Dishonourable boy ! 

That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword. 
That it shall render vengeance and revenge 
Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie 
In earth as quiet as thy father's skull : 
In proof whereof, there is mine honour's pawn ; 
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 

Fitz, How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse ! 
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, 
And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies, 
And lies, and lies : there is my bond of faith^ 
To tie thee to my strong correction. — 
As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal : 
Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say. 
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men 
To execute the noble duke at Calais. 

Amn. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage, 
That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this,^^ 
If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour. 

Boling. These differences shall all rest under gage. 
Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repeal'd he shall be, 
And, though mine enemy, restor'd again 
To all his lands and signories : when he 's return'd. 
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. 

Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. 
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, 
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross 
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens; 



[act IV. 

And toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself 
To Italy ; and there, at Venice,^" gave 
Ilis hody to that pleasant country's earth, 
And his pure soul unto his captain Clirist,^^ 
Under whose colours he had fought so long. 

BoUng. Why, hishop, is Norfolk dead ? 

Car. As sure as I live, my lord. 

Bol'mg. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom 
Of good old Abraham ! — Lords appellants, 
Your differences shall all rest under gage,^* 
Till we assign you to your days of trial. 

Enter the Archbishop of York^' attended. 

Arch, Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee 
From plume-pluck'd Richard ; who with willing soul 
Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields 
To the possession of thy royal hand : 
Ascend his throne, descending now from him, — 
And long live Henry, of that name the Fourth ! 

Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne. 

Car. Marry, God forbid !^'— 
Worst in this royal presence may I speak. 
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. 
Would God that any in this noble presence 
Were enough noble to be upright judge 
Of noble Richard ! then true nobless^^ would 
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wTong. 
What subject can give sentence on his king?^^ 
And who sits here that is not Richard's subject ? 
Thieves are not judg'd but they are by to hear, 
Although apparent guilt be seen in them ; 
And shall the figure of God's majesty,"'' 
His captain, steward, deputy elect, 
Anointed, crowned, planted many years, 
Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, 
And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God, 
That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd 
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed ! 
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king. 
My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, 
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king ; 




And if you crown him, let me prophecy, — 
The blood of English shall manure the ground, 
And future ages groan for this foul act ; 
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, 
And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars 
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound ; 
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny. 
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd 
The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls. 
O, if you raise this house against this house,^^ 
It will the woefullest division prove 
That ever fell upon this cursed earth. 
Prevent, resist it, let it not be so, 
Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe ! 

North. Well have you argu'd, sir ; and, for your pains, 
Of capital treason we arrest you here. — 
My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge 
To keep him safely till his day of trial. — 
May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit. 

Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view 
He may surrender ; so we shall proceed 
W^ithout suspicion. 

Arch. 1 will be his conduct.^^ [Exit. 

Boling. Lords, you that here are under our arrest. 
Procure your sureties for your days of answer. — 
Little are we beholding to your love, [To Carlisle. 

And little look'd for at your helping hands. 

Re-enter York, with King Richard, and Officers heurinf/ the 

croion, Sfc. 

K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king. 
Before I have shook off the reo;al thoughts 
Wherewith I reigned ? I hardly yet have learn'd 
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs : 
Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me 
To this submission. Yet I well remember 
The favours of these men : were they not mine ? 
Did they not sometime cry, all hail ! to me ? 
So Judas did to Christ : but he, in twelve, 
Found truth in all but one ; T, in twelve thousand, none. 
God save the king ! — Will no man say, amen 


[act IV. 

Am I both priest and clerk ? well then, ainen. 
God save the king I although I be not he ; 
And vet, amen, if heaven do think him me. — 
To do what service am I sent for hither? 

Arch. To do that office of thine own good will 
Which tired majesty did make thee offer, — 
The resignation of thy state and crown 
To Henry Bolingbroke. 

K. Rich. Give me the crown. — Here, cousin, seize the crown ; 
On this side my hand, and on that side yours. 
Now is this golden crown like a deep well 
That owes two buckets, filling one another ; 
The emptier ever dancing in the air. 
The other down, unseen, and full of water : 
That bucket down and full of tears am I, 
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 

BoUng. I thought you had been willing to resign. 

K. Rich. My crown I am ; but still my griefs are mine : 
You may my glories and my state depose. 
But not my griefs ; still am I king of those. 

Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your crown.^^ 

K. Rich. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down. 
My care is, loss of care, by old care done 
Your care is, gain of care, by new care won : 
The cares I give, I have, though given away ; 
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. 

BoUng. Are you contented to resign the crown ? 

K. Rich. I, no ; — no, I f' for I must nothing be ; 
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. 
Now mark me, how I will undo myself : — 
I give this heavy weight from off my head, 
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand. 
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart ; 
With mine own tears I wash away my balm. 
With mine own hands I give away my crown, 
W^ith mine own tongue deny my sacred state, 
AYith mine own breath release all duty's rites: 
All pomp and majesty I do forswear ; 
My manors, rents, revenues I forego ; 
My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny : 
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me ! 
God keep all vows unbroke that swear to thee ! 

ACT lY.] 



Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd, 
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd! 
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit. 
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! 
God save King Henry, unking'd Richard says, 
And send him many years of sunshine days I^^ — 
What more remains? 

North. No more, but that you read 

[Offering a paper. 

These accusations, and these grievous crimes 
Committed by your person and your followers 
Against the state and profit of this land ; 
That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
May deem that you are worthily depos'd. 

K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out 
My weav'd-up follies ? Gentle Northumberland, 
If thy offences were upon record, 
Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop 
To read a lecture of them ? If thou wouldst, 
There shouldst thou find one heinous article, — 
Containing the deposing of a king, 
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, — 
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven : — 
Nay, all of you that stand and look upon,^^ 
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, — 
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, 
Showing an outward pity ; yet you Pilates 
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross. 
And water cannot wash away your sin. 

North. My lord, dispatch ; read o'er these articles. 

K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see : 
And yet salt water blinds them not so much 
But thev can see a sort of traitors here. 
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
I find myself a traitor with the rest ; 
For I have given here my soul's consent 
To undeck the pompous body of a king ; 
Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave,^"^ 
Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant. 

North. My lord,— 

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man. 
Nor no man's lord ; I have no name, no title, — 



[act IV. 

No, not that name was given me at the font/^ — 

But 'tis usurp'd : — alack the heavy day, 

That I have worn so many winters out, 

And know not now what name to call myself! 

O that I were a mockery-king of snow, 

Standing hefore the sun of Bolinghroke, 

To melt myself away in water-drops ! — 

Good king, — great king, — (and yet not greatly good,) 

An if my word be sterling yet in England, 

Let it command a mirror hither straight, 

That it may show me what a face I have, 

Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 

BoUiiy. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass. 

[Exit an Attendant. 

North. Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come. 

K. Rich. Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I come to hell! 

Boling. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland. 

North. The commons will not, then, be satisfied. 

K. Rich. They shall be satisfied : I'll read enough, 
When I do see the very book indeed 
Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. 

Re-enter Attendant with a glass. 

Give me the glass, and therein will I read. — 

No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck 

So many blows upon this face of mine. 

And made no deeper wounds ! — O flattering glass, 

Ijike to my followers in prosperity. 

Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face 

That every day under his household roof 

Did keep ten thousand men?^* was this the face 

That, like the sun, did make beholders wink ? 

Was this the face that fac'd so manv follies. 

And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke ? 

A brittle glory shinetli in this face : 

As brittle as the glory is the face ; 

[Dashes the glass against the ground. 
For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.^^ — 
Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, — 
How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. 

Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd 
The shadow of your face. 





K, Rich. Say that again. 

The shadow of my sorrow ? ha ! let's see : — 
'Tis very true, my grief hes all within ; 
And these external manners of laments 
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, 
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul -^'^ 
There lies the substance : and I thank thee, king, 
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st 
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way 
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, 
And then be gone and trouble you no more. 
Shall I obtain it ? 

Boling. Name it, fair cousin. 

K. Rich. Fair cousin ! I am greater than a king \ '' 
For when I was a king, my flatterers 
Were then but subjects ; being now a subject, 
I have a king here to my flatterer. 
Being so great, I have no need to beg. 

Boling. Yet ask. 

K. Rich. And shall I have? 

Boling. You shall. 

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. 

Boling. Whither ? 

K. Rich. Whither you will, so 1 were from your sights. 

Boling. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower. 

K. Rich. O, good I convey? — conveyers are you all/^ 
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 

[Exeunt King Richard, some Lords and a guard. 

Boling. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down 
Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves. 

[Exeunt all except the Bishop of Carlisle, the 
Abbot of Westminster, and Aumerle. 

Ahbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. 

Car. The woe's to come : the children yet unborn^'' 
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 

Au7n. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot ?*° 

Ahhot. Before I freely speak my mind herein," 
You shall not only take the sacrament*^ 
To bury mine intents, but also to effect*^ 
Whatever T shall happen to devise. 

IX. 22 



1 see your brows are full of discontent, 
Your liearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears 
Come home with me to supper ; I will lay 
A plot shall show us all a merry day. 

Sot^s to tlje Jfourtlj %ti 

^ Westminster Hall. 

The stage-direction in the quartos is merely, — " Enter Bullingbroke, Aumerle, 
and others ;" in the folio, — " Enter, as to the Parliament, Bullingbroke, Aumerle, 
Northumberland, Percy, Eitzvvater, Surrey, Carlile, Abbot of "Westminster, herald, 
ofl&cers, and Bagot." 

In the xxj. yeer of king Richard, he ordeyned and held a parlement at West- 
mynstre, that was callid the grete parlement, and this parlement was maad onli 
for to sle the erlle of Arundelle and othir, as thaym likid at that tyme. And for 
thair jugement, the kyng leet make a long and large hous of tymber in the paleis 
at Westmynstre, that was callid an Hale ; covered with tilez, and open on bothe 
sidez and atte endis, that alle men myghte se thorough; and the king com- 
maundid everi lord, knyghte, and squier, for to bryng with thaym thair retenuez, 
and come to the parlement as strong as thay myghte. — The Brute Chronicle. 

This great hall was begun to be repayred in the yeare 1397, by Richard the 
Second, who caused the walles, windowes, and roofe to be taken downe, and new 
made, with a stately porch, and diverse lodgings of a marvellous worke, and with 
great costs ; all which he levied of strangers banished, or flying out of their 
countryes, who obtayned license to remaine in this land by the kinges charters, 
which they had purchased with great summes of money, John Boterell being then 
clarke of the workes. — Slaw's Survay of London, 1603. 

^ The lords Spiritual on the right side. 

The costume of the ecclesiastical peers in the fourteenth century was, of a very 
striking description. " The love of decoration by the ecclesiastics, whose robes 
assumed an extraordinary character of magnificence, was carried to excess. This 
was displayed more especially in the mitres of the bishops, which, as well as some 
of the more conspicuous parts of the dress, were now covered with gems and 
jewels of immense value. One of the personal ornaments of ecclesiastics which 
received the greatest display of ornamentation, was the large brooch used to fasten 
the cope over the breast, which was called usually a morse (in Latin morsus, 
derived from the verb mordeo, to bite, and applied with a similar idea to that 



which gave the name mordauut to an appendage of the buckle). The old descrip- 
tions of some of these articles give us a wonderful notion of their elaborate 
ricliness. The inventory of the jewels, etc., belonging to the church of St. Paul's, 

in London, includes a morse 
which had belonged to 
Peter of Elois, which was 
of gold, and covered with 
cameos and other large 
stones and pearls, morsus 
Petri de Bloys, tripJioriatns 
de auro, mm Jcamahutis et 
aliis magnis lapidibtis et 
perlis. Another inventory, 
made in Prance in 1380, 
speaks of a morse which 
was adorned with eighteen 
rubies [halays], four large 
emeralds, eight small ones, 
and four large and twenty- 
six small pearls. We learn 
from the old inventories 
that these rich accessories 
were often mounted upon 
metal of less value, and 
that this metal itself was 
merely a thin plaque spread upon a disc of wood. Among the miscellaneous 
articles in Lord Londest3orougli's collection is a curious circular plaque of silver, 
chased, partly gilt, and apparently belonging to the latter part of the fourteenth 
century. The sculpture which covers it, as given in the accompanying cut, repre- 
sents the popular subject of the offering of the three kings, with the scene of the 
shepherds in the background. This object is believed to have formed the centre 
of a morse," Wright. 

3 Fitz-Walter. 

This baron, called in the old copies Pitzwater and Pitzwaters, was summoned 
to Parliament from 1390 to 1404. He married Joan, daughter and sole heir of 
John Baron Devereux, and died in 1407. 

* Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars. 

I imagine the poet might mean, by stars, the fair fortunes he was born to, the 
influence of those stars that governed his nativity ; and, I beheve, the phrase, 
poetically, may be dispensed with. You know it is a common phrase with us to 
say, " I thank my stars." Besides, our poet in many places appears evidently a 
fatist. Othello calls Desdemona " ill-starr'd wench." The Bastard in Lear says, 
" he should have been the same, if the maidenlike star in the firmament had 
shone on his nativity ;" and in King John, you may observe, Shakespeare makes 
Constantia speak exactly as he here does Aumerle. — Theobald. 

We learn from Pliny's Natural History, that the vulgar error assigned the 
bright and fair stars to the rich and great ; " Sidera singulis attributa nobis, et 
clara divitibus, minora pauperibus," &c. Lib. i. cap. 8. My fair stars, my high 
descent. — Anon. 



° There is my gage, the manual seal of death. 
Gage, a pledge, French. Hence the glove or gauntlet thrown down in chal- 
lenges was called a gage ; because, by throwing it, the challenger pledged himself 
to meet the person who should take it up. It is, therefore, in allusion to it as a 
manual ornament, that Shakespeare makes Aumerle thus speak of it. — Nares. 

^ If that thy valour stands on sym^Mthies. 
Here is a translated sense much harsher than that of the stars. Aumerle has 
challenged Bagot, with some hesitation, as not being his equal ; and therefore one 
whom, according to the rules of chivalry, he was 
not obliged to fight, as a nobler life was not to be 
staked in a duel against a baser. Fitzwater then 
throws down his gage, a pledge of battle ; and tells 
him that if he stands upon ' sympathy,' that is, 
upon equality of blood, the combat is now offered 
him by a man of rank not inferior to his own. 
' Sympathy' is an affection incident at once to two 
subjects. This community of affection implies a 
likeness or equality of nature, and thence our poet 
transferred the term to equality of blood. — 

With my rapier s point. 

Although the name rapier, applied to a long 
narrow sword sharpened on both sides, does not 
appear to have been known in England before the 
sixteenth century, a weapon of a similar descrip- 
tion was perhaps in use long previously. In Lord 
Londesborough's armoury at Grimston is a long 
sword, temp. Eichard IL, the blade of which is 
broad, ending in a sharp point, and has a rapier- 
like double edge. See the annexed engraving. 

One of the earliest notices of the rapier under 
that name occm's in an old manuscript in the 
Sloane Library, which seems to be the fragment of 
a register formerly belonging to some of our 
schools, where the noble Science of Defence was 
taught, from the year 1568 to 1583 ; in which we 
find the following entry : " Item a challenge 
playde before the Kings Majestic (Edward YL) at 
Westminster . . at seven kynde of weapons. That 
is to saye, . . . the rapier and target, the rapier 
and cloke, &c." And in another place Steevens, I 
giving an account of this manuscript, expressly 
tells us that rapier and target, rapier and doke, 

rapier and dagger, were among the weapons used in the fencing school. — Again, 
in Eulleine's Dialogue between Soarnesse and Chirurgi, 1579, p. 20 : " There is 
a new kynd of instruments to let bloud withall, whych brynge the bloud-letter 
sometyme to the gallowes, because hee stryketh to deepe. These instruments are 
called the ruffins tucke, and long foining rapier : weapons more malicious than 
manly." — Beed. 

The continuator of Stowe's Annals, ed. 1G31, p. 1021, supposes the rapier to 



have been introtluccd about the 20th year of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, A.D. 
1578, at ^Yhich time, he says, swords and bucklers began to be disused. Nash, 
ill his life of Jacke Wilton, 159-i, mentions rapiers as in use in the reign of Henry 
VIII., but I question whether this may not be considered an anachronism ; and, 
at all events, it must not be accepted as a proof without further testimony. 

"At that time (1587) two other Enghshmcn, Sir W. Stanley and Rowland 
Yorke, got an ignominious name of traytors. This Yorke, borne in London, was 
a man most negligent and lazy, but desperately hardy ; he was in his time most 
famous among those who respected fencing, having been the first that brought into 
England that wicked and pernicious fashion to fight in tlie fields in duels with a 
rapier called a tucke, onely for tlie thrust : the English having till that very time 
used to fight with backe swords, slashing and cutting one the other, armed with 
targets or bucklers, with very broad weapons, accounting it not to be a manly action 
to fight by thrusting and stabbing, and chiefly under the waste," Darcie's Annals 
of Queen Elizabeth, 1623, p. 223. This authority, however, proves at most no 
more than that a rapier, called a tiicJce " onely for the thurst," had been introduced 
by a person who was hanged in 1587, and that the long foining rapier was a new 
kind of instrument in 1597. The rapier not called a tuclce, and for something 
more than the tliurst or the long foin, might, for anything that yet appears to the 
contrary, have been an ordinary weapon long before either Yorke was born. It 
should appear from Carleton's Thankful Remembrance of Gods Mercy, 1625, that 
York " was . . famous . . for bringing in a new kind of fight — to run the point of a 
rapier into a mans body. This manner of fight he brought first into England, &c." 
That is, as I understand it, he did not bring the rapier itself into England, but 
only this new manner of fighting with it. The fact I take to be this ; the ancient 
rapier was along two-edged sharp-pointed weapon, essentially diff'erent from that 
mentioned by Darcie and BuUeine, which was for the thrust only, whereas the 
other was for both blow and thrust. — Bitson. 

^ I tasJc the earth to the lihe. 

This speech and the following one are found only in the four earliest quarto 
editions. The reading here adopted is that of ed. 1597, the word tash being 
altered to talie in the later editions, the meaning of the latter reading being perhaps, 
I take the earth to witness, or, I kneel to the ground in acceptance of your 
challenge ; the meaning of the former, I task the earth by throwing down my 
gage, I lay the burden of my pledge upon the earth. To " take the earth" is, at 
present, a fox-hunter's phrase. So, in the Blind Beggar of Alexandria, 1598 : — 
" I'll follow him until he tahe the earths But I know not how it can be applied 
here. It should seem, however, from the following passage in "Warner's Albion's 
England, 1602, that the expression is yet capable of another meaning : — " Lo here 
my gage (he terrd his glove) thou know'st the victor's meed." To terre the 
glove was I suppose, to dash it on the earth. We still say to ground a musquet, 
and io ground a bowl. Johnson suggested to alter earth to oath, in support of 
which I may observe that the word oath, in Troilus and Cressida, 1609, is 
corrupted in the same manner. Instead of the " — untraded oath,'' it gives 
" — untraded earth" We might read, only changing the place of one letter, and 

altering another : — " / tash thy heart to the lihe ," that is, I put thy valour 

to the same trial. So, in King Henry VI. — " How show'd his tasJcing / seem'd 
it in contempt ?" One editor boldly reads, — I task thy heart. — Steevens. 

^ From sun to sun. 

That is, from sun-rise to sun-set. A similar expression occurs in Cymbeline. 
" The time appointed for the duello,'' says Saviolo, " hath alwaies been 'twixt the 



rising and the setting sun ; and whoever in that time doth not prove his intent, can 
never after be admitted the combat upon that quarrel," On Honour and honourable 
Quarrels, 4to. 1595. This passage fully supports the emendation here made, and 
my interpretation of the words. The quartos read — " From sin to sm." The 
emendation, which in my apprehension requires no enforcement or support, was 
proposed by Mr. Steevens, who explains these words differently. He is of opinion 
that they mean, from one day to another. — Malone. 

However ingenious the conjecture of Steevens may be, I think the old reading 
the true one. " From sin to sin," is from one denial to another ; for those denials 
were severally maintained to be lies. — Henley. " Doe not linke sin unto sin," 
Daniel's Civill Wars of England, 1599. 

I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness. 

I dare meet him where no help can be had by me against him. So in 
Macbeth : — " or be alive again, — And dare me to the desert with thy sword." 
Thus also in the Lovers Progress, by Beaumont and Fletcher : — " Maintain thy 
treason with thy sword ? with what — Contempt I hear it ! in a wilderness — I durst 
encounter it." — Johnson. 

" Here do I throw down this. 

Holinshed informs us, that on this occasion " he threw down a hood, that he 
had borrowed." He had previously thrown down his glove, when accused by 

And there, at Venice, gave. 

The remains of Thomas Mowbray were interred in Saint Mark's church, in 
Venice, A.D. 1399 ; but his ashes were removed to England in 1533. The slab 
which originally covered these remains at the latter end of the seventeenth century 
stood under the gallery of the ducal palace ; and the arms of Thomas Mowbray 
being very elaborately engraved upon it, the stone was described by an Italian 
writer in 1682 as a Venetian hieroglyphic. By the indefatigable inquiries of Mr. 
Hawdon Brown, an English gentleman residing in Venice, this most curious monu- 
ment was traced, in 1839, to the possession of a stonemason ; and it has been 
sent to England, and is now safe in the custody of Mr. Howard, of Corby. — 

His death, however, did not take place till the year 1413, long after the date 
of the present scene. " The Duke of Northfolke, which supposed to have bene 
borne out by the king, was sore repentant of his enterprise, and departed sorowfully 
out of the realme into Almain, and at the last came to Venice, where for thought 
he died," Grafton's Chronicle. 

The Duke of Norfolke, having now got a fall, where he thought to take his 
rest, repented his enterprise, and utterly condemned his light conceite of the king's 
lightnesse, and so with extreame griefe and anguish of minde, he departed out of 
the realme into Almaine, and from thence travelled to Venice ; where through 
violence of thought and discontentment, in short time he ended his dayes. This 
sentence of banishment was given against him the same day of the yeere' wlierein 
the Duke of Gloucester by his wicked meanes was strangled to death at Calice. — 
Hayioard's Life of Henrie the Fourth, 1599. 

Unto his captain Christ. 

" Be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus : endure hardness, as a good 
soldier of Jesns Christ,'' 2 Timothy, ii. "Behold, God Himself is with us for our 
Captain,'" 2 Chronicles, xiii. 



^* Your differences shall all rest tmder gage. 

In this Parlament also tlie Lorde Eitzwater appealed the said Duke of Aumerle, 
Sonne to the Duke of Yorke, upon points of high treason : likewise the Lord 
Morley appealed John Montacute Earle of Salisburie, and more then twentie other 
appealants waged battaile ; but the King purposing to lay the foundation of his 
realme by favour and not by force, gave pardon and restitution alike to all, uppon 
sureties and band for their allegeance ; and in a sweet and moderate oration 
he admonislieth, and as it were intreated the one part, that ould griefes and grudges 
should not be renued, but buried together with the memory of former times, 
wherein men were forced to doe many thinges against their mindes ; the other 
part he desired to be more regardfuU of their actions afterwards, and for the time 
past, rather to forget that ever they were in fault, then to remember that they 
were pardoned. — Ilayward's Life of Henrie the Fourth^ 1599. 

Enter the Archhlshop of York. 

The stage-direction in the early editions is, — *' Enter York," which modern 
editors have accepted as referring to Langley, Duke of York, but there can be 
little if any doubt that it is the Archbishop who is intended by Shakespeare. 
When Eichard at the Tower received the deputation that waited on him for the 
purpose of obtaining his consent to his deposition, he constituted the Archbishop 
of York and the Bishop of Hereford his procurators to signify his intention to 
parliament. It was the Archbishop, according to Grafton, who introduced 
Richard's surrender to the parliament. 

On the morowe followyng, beyng on the Tewesday, and the last day of 
September, all the Lordes spirituall and temporall, with also the commons of the 
sayde parliament, assembled at Westmynster ; where in the presence of them, the 
Archbishop of Yorke, according to the kings desyre shewed unto them seriously 
the voluntary renouncing of the king, with also the favour that he ought unto his 
cossyn the Duke of Lancaster, for to have him his successor. And moreover he 
shewed unto them the schedule or bill of renouncement, signed with king 
Eichardes hand. And when the things aforesayde were by the sayde Bishop 
fynished, the question was asked first of the lordes, if they would admit and allow 
that renouncement : the which when it was of the lordes graunted and confirmed, 
the lyke question was asked of the commons, and of them in lyke maner afiirmed. 
— Grafton's Chronicle. 

In God's name^ I'll ascend the regal throne. 

The words actually spoken by Henry are recorded by Knyghton. Standing 

upright, that every one might see 
him, after he had crossed himself 
on the forehead and breast, and 
called on the name of Christ, he 
said : — " In the name of Eadher, 
Son, and Holy Ghost, I, Henry of 
Lancaster, challenge the rewme of 
Ynglande, and the Croun, with all 
the membres and the appurtenances, 
and als I, that am descendit by right 
line of the blode, coming from the 
gude king Henry Therde, and throge 
that right that God of his grace hath 
sent me, with help of kyn, and of 
my frendes to recover it, the which 

Astbee It CinSsrfidi lac 

To flux p. ITS 



rewme was in poynt to be ondone, by defaute of governaunce and ondoying- of 
the gude lawes." 

Tlianne aros the said duke of Lancastre and of Hereforde, and blissid him, and 
redde in a bille how he descendid and cam doun lynealH of kyng Harri the 
sone of king Johan, and was the next heir male of his blod, and for that cause he 
chalanged the croune ; and alle the lordis and comunez assentid therto.' — TIk' 
Brute Chronicle. The annexed engraving represents the seal of Bolingbroke 
used previously to his coronation. 

Marry, God forbid ! 

There seems to be a reasonable doubt if any speech in favour of Richard was 
delivered on this occasion by the Bishop of Carlisle. The fact rests on no very 
good authority. It first appears, in English, in Hall's Chronicle ; it occurs in 
most of the later chroniclers, and Hayward has amplified it to an extraordinary 
length in his own fashion. The early accounts of the meetings of parliament just 
before the coronation of Henry are in the highest degree confused and unsatis- 

Then true nolless would. 
Nohless, ed. 1597, altered in later editions to nobleness. So, in the Fair Maid 
of the "West, 1631, — "Degenerate Spaniard, there's no nobless in thee." Again, 
in Ben Jonson's Epigrams, — "But thou, whose noblesse keeps one stature 

Thrice noble Earle, behold with gentle eyes 
My wits poor worth ; even for your noblesse, 
Renowned Lord, Northumberland's fayre flowre. 

Peele's JIo?iour of the Garter, 1593. 
Your empire is so amply absolute, (Byron to Q. Eliz.) 
That even your theaters show more comely rule. 
True noblesse, royaltie, and happinesse. 
Than others courts. — Byron s Conspiracy, 1608. 

^® Wliat subject can give sentence on his hing ? 

Never shall this poore breath of mine consent 
That he that two and twenty yeeres hath raignd 
As lawfuU Lord, and king by just discent. 
Should here be judgd unheard, and unaraignd 
By subjects two ; judges incompetent 
To judge their king unlawfully detaind. 
And un-brought forth to plead his guiltles cause. 
Barring th' annointed libertie of lawes, 

BanieVs Civill Wars of England, 4to. Lond. 1599. 

^° And shall the figure of God's majesty. 

The chief argument urged by the bishop in Holinshed, is, that it was unjust 
to proceed against the king " without calling him openly to his auijswer and 
defence." He says that " none of them were worthie or meete to give judgement 
to so noble a prince ;" but does not expressly assert that he could not be laAvfully 
deposed. Our author, however, undoubtedly had Holinshed before him. — 

~^ If you raise this house against this house. 
Baise, eds. 1597, 1598, 1608, 1615; rear, ed. 1623. The quarto, 1615, 
reads, — " 0, if you raise this house against his house." Perhaps the true reading 
IX. 23 




is, — " 0, if you rear this house against his house." The sense, indeed, of this 
liouse against this house, that is, one house against another, a mere civil con- 
tention, is sufficiently clear, though not, as I conceive, strong enough for the 
speaker's purpose, who seems especially to deprecate hostility between the faction 
of Bolingbroke, who is present, and the adherents of the king, whom they ought 
all to support. — Seymour. 

If the reading in the text be adopted, the poet alludes most probably to the 
text in the Evangelist, that " a house divided against itself cannot stand." 

To Jceep him safely till his day of trial. 

After this line, in eds. 1597 and 1598, instead of what follows, down to the 
words, — " lords, prepare yourselves," are only the following three lines, which are 
altered in the last speech of Bolingbroke in the additions, to suit the new arrange- 
ment, — " Bol. Let it be so : and lo ! on Wednesday next — "We solemnly proclaim 
our coronation — Lords, be ready all. — [Exeunt." 

Stopt there was his too vehement speech with speed, 
And he sent close to warde from where he stood. 

BanieVs Civill Wars of England, 4ito. Lond. 1599. 

I will he his conduct. 

Conduct, that is, conductor. Compare 2 Henry VL, act ii. scene 4, — "Although 
thou hast been conduct to my shame." 

^ Will no man say, amen ? 

" Blow ye with the trumpet, and say, Ood save King Solomon ! And 
Benaiah, the son of Jehoiada, answered and said, Amen 1 Kings, i. 

Sere, cousin, seize the crown. 
The quarto 1608, where this scene first appeared, reads : — " Seize the crown. 
— Here, cousin, on this side my hand, and on that side yours." The folio : 

Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown. 
Here, cousin, on this side my hand, on this side yours. 

It is evident that, in the original copy, the words, " Here, cousin, seize the 
crown," were misplaced, and erroneously printed — " Seize the crown. Here, 
cousin ;" but these words being properly arranged, all the rest of the first copy is 
right, and I have followed it. The folio omitted the word and in the second 
line. Steevens prints — " Here, on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine.'" — 
Malone. Singer suggested that the words, " seize the crown," were a stage- 
direction. The crown being brought, Eichard snatches at it, and then proceeds. 

'Tis said with his owne hands he gave the crowne 
To Lancaster, and wisht to God he might 
Have better joy thereof then he had knowne. 
And that his powre might make it his by right : 
And furthermore he crav'd of all his owne 
But life to live apart a private wight ; 
The vanity of greatnes he had tride. 
And how unsurely standes the foote of pride. 

BanieVs Civill Wars of England, 4to. Lond. 1599. 

/ thought, you had heen willing to resign. 

The instrument which he signed is worded in a style of the most voluntary and 
entire self-abasement. The following expressions occur, — " I do purely of my 
own accord renounce and totally resign all kingly dignity and majesty, &c., 




purely, voluntarily, simply, and absolutely, I do renounce and them do totally 
resign. And I do confess, acknowledge, repute, and truly and out of certain 
knowledge do judge myself to have been and to be utterly insufficient and 
unuseful for the rule and government of the said kingdoms and dominions, with 
all their appurtenances; and that for my notorious demerits I deserve to be 

Part of your cares you give me with your crown. 

Or if they will needs deforce you from your kingdome, yet if an honourable 
maintenance may bee assured, what shall you lose thereby? What shall you 
lack ? You have no childe to be disinherited ; the chiefest motiv^e which maketh 
men so greedy to get, and so carefull to keepe. And as for yourselfe, you shall 
be removed from a steepe and slippery hill, to a smooth and pleasant plaine ; from 
tempestuous seas, to a calme haven ; from daungerous travaile to secure rest ; and 
if there be no solace without safety, no felicity without firmnesse ; you shall finde 
the private life not onely more sweete, but more high and happy then your princely 
state. The tallest trees are weakest in the toppes ; in widest fieldes are greatest 
tempests ; and envy alwaies aimeth at loftiest marks : so that to be placed on high, 
is a false felicity, and a true misery in shew a rule, but indeed a subjection to all 
the subjects; having least stay to stand, and most danger in the fall; and, 
therefore, if you come downe safely, you are therein priviledged above many other. 
But you shal lose, you will say, the credit and the countenance of a King ; so you 
sha] the cares ; and so you shall the casualties. The crown and sceptar are things 
most weighty to weld ; if a Prince be good, he is laden with labour, if evill, with 
infamy and reproch ; if either with perils ; on every side he is beset with dangerous 
rocks, with deadly gulfes, and continually tossed with strong and sturdie tempests : 
so that to be freed from these feares, is to be esteemed an escape, and not a losse. 
— Rayward's Life of Henrie tlie Fourth, 1599. 

My care is — loss of care, hy old care done. 

Shakespeare often obscures his meaning by playing with sounds. Eichard 
seems to say here, that "his cares are not made less by the increase of 
Bolingbroke's cares ;" for this reason, that " his care is the loss of care," — his 
grief is, that his regal cares are at an end, by the cessation of the care to which he 
had been accustomed. — Johnson. 

I, no; — no, I. 

The old form of ay is here retained on account of the quibble. Prom this, 
and many other instances, it is clear, that ay and / were sounded alike ; it also 
hence appears that a double negative sometimes, as now, formed an affirmative. 
Bolingbroke asks Eichard if he is contented to resign the crown, to which 
Eichard, at last, answers : I will say " no " twice, that is, I will resign. — 

And send him many years of sunshine days ! 

Then he read openly and distinctly the forme of his cession, wherein hee did 
declare, that hee had discharged his subjects from their oathes of fealty and 
homage, and all other oathes whatsoever ; and of his own will and free motion, 
did abdicate the title, dignitie, and authoritie of a King : and rendred up the 
possession of the realme, with the use and title thereof, and all the rights there- 
unto apperteining. To this the King subscribed and was sworne ; and then hee 
delivered with his owne hands the crowne, the scepter, and the robe to the Duke 
of Lancaster; wishing unto him more happinesse therewith, then had ever 
happened unto himselfe. Then he did constitute the Archbishop of Yorke, and 



the Bisliop of Ilereforcl his procurators, to intimate and dechire this his resignation 
to all the states of tlie realme, wliich should be assembled together in Parlament. 
Lastly, he gave all liis riches and goods, to the summe of tliree hundred thousand 
pounds in coyne, besides his jewels and plate, for satisfaction of the injuries that 
hee had done, desiring the Duke, and all the rest tliat were present severally by 
their names not altogether to forget that he had beene their King, nor yet too 
much to thinke upon the same ; but to retaine of him a moderate remembrance ; 
and in recompence of the ease that hee had done them by his voluntary yeelding, 
to permit him to live safely, in a private and obscure life : with the sweetnesse 
wlierof he was so possessed, that from thenceforth he would preferre it, before any 
preferment in the world. All this was delivered and done by the King, with 
voyce and countenance so agreeable to his present heavinesse, that there was no 
man too unmindefull of humane instabilitie, which was not in some measure 
niooved thereat ; insomuch as a fewe secret teares melted from the eyes of many 
tliat were present, in whose mindes a confused and obscure alteration alreadie 
ganne to beginne. So prone and inclinable are men to pitie miserie, although 
they have procured it, and to envie prosperie, even that which they have raysed. 
— HayiL-ard's Life of Ilenrie the Fourth, 1599. 

Najj, all of yon that stmid and look upon . 

So the quarto 1608, except that it omits the word all, which I have restored 
from the folio. The folio reads — look upon me. To " look upon" is frequently 
used by our author, for — " to be a looJcer on.'" — Malone. 

'^^ And Borereignty, a slave. 

So the quartos of 1608 and 1615. The folio misprints it sovereignty," 
altered in the second and later editions to, " a sovereign," a change for which there 
does not seem any necessity. To make sovereignty a slave, is as proper an expres- 
sion, as to mahe majesty a subject, or state a peasant. — Malone. 

No, not that name vas yiven me at the font. 

How that name which was given him at the font could be usurped, I do not 
understand. Perhaps Shakespeare meant to shew that imagination, dwelling long 
on its own misfortunes, represents them as greater than they really are. Every 
thing is taken away from me ; there is nothing that I now can call my own ; my 
power, my title, nay, the very name that was given to me at ray baptism, I 
.suppose, is now no longer mine. — Anon. 

^* Did I'eep ten th on sand men. 

It does not appear that this enormous number of retainers absolutely lived 
under Pichard's roof, but the old chronicles say " that to his household came 
every day, to meate, ten thousand men." He had three hundred domestics in his 
kitchen, and there is no doubt but that this prodigality was the source of much 
exaction, and a great cause of the discontent of the people. Richard's prodigality 
is thus described by Holinshed : " He kept the greatest port, and mainteined the 
most plentifull house that ever any king in England did either before his time or 
since. Eor there resorted dailie to his court above ten thousand persons that had 
meat and drinke there allowed them. In his kitchen were three hundred servitors, 
and everie other office was furnished after the like rate. Of ladies, chamberers, 
and landerers, there were above three hundred at the least. And in gorgious and 
costlie apparell they exceeded all measure ; not one of them that kept within the 
bounds of his degree. Yeomen and groomes were clothed in silkes, with cloth of 
graine and skarlet, over sumptuous ye may be sure for their estates." 



And as Hardynge sayeth, he was veraye prodigall, ambycyous, and lecherous. 
For there resorted to hys courte at their pleasures above the noumbre of ten 
thousande persones, that had theyr desyres and commaundementes. And that in 
his kytchyn were thre hundreth servytours, and in every office a great noumbre. 
Moreover, of ladyes, chaumberers, and lavenders, there were above the nombre of 
thre hundred, and they all exceded in gorgeous and costelye apparell, farre above 
theyr degrees : yomen and gromes were clothed in sylke, as saten and damaske 
bothe doblettes and gounes, with clothe of grayne and skarlette over sumpteous, 
and had theyr garmentes cutte bothe in the courte and townes, farre otherwyse 
then it had bene before his dayes, wyth brodery worke, ryche furres and gold- 
smythes woorke ; devysynge every daye a newe fassion, to the great ruyne and 
decaye of the welthe of Englande. — JFabyaris Chronicle. 

CracFd in a hundred shivers. 

It must be recollected that Eichard never came personally before the 
parliament, and that any ebullitions of anger and grief were shown really in his 
prison-chamber. The prose MSS. in the library of the king of France will help 
us to follow Richard into the Tower, and view the irritated condition of his mind 
during the earlier part of his confinement. They relate that, when the Dukes of 
Lancaster and York went to the Tower to see the king, Lancaster desired the 
Earl of Arundel to send the king to them. "When this message was delivered to 
Richard, he replied, " Tell Henry of Lancaster from me, that 1 will do no such 
thing, and that, if he wishes to speak with me, he must come to me." On their 
entering, none shewed any respect to the king, except Lancaster, who took off his 
hat and saluted him respectfully, and said to him ; " Here is our cousin, the Duke 
of Aumarle, and our uncle, the Duke of York, who wish to speak with you ;" to 
which Richard answered, " Cousin, they are not fit to speak to me." " But have 
the goodness to hear them," replied Lancaster : upon which Richard uttered an 
oath, and turning to York, "Thou villain, what wouldst thou say tome? and 
thou, traitor of Rutland, thou art neither good nor worthy enough to speak to me, 
nor to bear the name of duke, earl, or knight; thou, and the villain thy father, 
have both of you foully betrayed me ; in a cursed hour were ye born ; by your 
false counsel was my uncle of Gloucester put to death." The Earl of Rutland 
replied to the king that, in what he said, he lied ; and threw down his bonnet at 
his feet ; on which the king said, " I am king, and thy lord ; and will still con- 
tinue king ; and will be a greater lord than 1 ever was, in spite of all my enemies." 
Upon this Lancaster imposed silence on Rutland. Richard, turning then with a 
fierce countenance to Lancaster, asked why he was in confinement ; and why 
under a guard of armed men, — " Am I your servant or your king ? AVliat mean 
you to do with me ?" Lancaster rephed, " You are my king and lord, but the 
council of the realm have ordered that you should be kept in confinement till full 
decision { jugement) in parliament." The king again swore ; and desired he might 
see his wife. " Excuse me," replied tlie duke, " it is forbidden by the council." 
Then the king in great wrath walked about the room ; and at length broke out 
into passionate exclamations, and appeals to heaven ; called them " fals.e traitors," 
and offered to fight any four of them ; boasted of his father and grandfather, his 
reign of twenty-two years; and ended by throwing down his bonnet. Lancaster 
tlien fell on his knees, and besought him to be quiet till the meeting of parliament, 
and there every one would bring forward his reason. At the conclusion of this 
interview, Richard is made to say, " At least, fair sirs, let me come in judgment 
[on trial), that I may be heard in my reasons ; and that 1 may answer to all that 
they would say and bring forward against me and my regal majesty." Tiien said 
tlie Duke of Lancaster, "Sire, be not afraid; for nothing unreasonable shall be 




(lone to you." And so he took leave of the king ; and not a lord who was there 
durst utter a word. Another conference between llichard and Henry in the 
Tower, at the solicitation of the former, is given by Eroissart, xii. 2G, in which 
llichard, in a very different temper, humbly acknowledges his errors, offers to 
resign ; and listens with patience to reproofs of his conduct, and rumours of his 
illegitimacy from the mouth of his rival. — Wehh. 

That swells with silence in the tortiir'd soul. 

A similar expression occurs in Lilly's play of Midas, published in 1592, — "I am 
one of those whose tongues are swell'd with silence." 

Fair cousin ! I am greater than a Mng. 
So the folio. The quarto 1608, reads : — *' Eair coose, why ? I am greater than 
a king." The modern editors : — " Eair cousin ? Why, I am greater than a king." 
— Boswell. 

Conveyers are you all. 

To convey is a term often used in an ill sense, and so Eichard understands it 
liere. Pistol says of stealing, " convey the wise it call ;" and to convey is the 
word for sleight of hand, which seems to be alluded to here. Ye are all, says the 
deposed prince, jugglers, who rise with this nimble dexterity by the fall of a good 
king. — Johnson. " "What say ye of this crafty conveyer, which feareth not to 
juggle with the Holy Scripture?," Tyndal. 

The children yet unborn. 

Stay here thy foote, thy yet unguilty foote, 
That canst not stay when thou art farther in ; 
Eetire thee yet unstaind whilst it doth boote. 
The end is spoile of what thou dost begin : 
Injustice never yet tooke lasting roote, 
Nor held that long impiety did win : 
The babes unborne, shall 6 be borne to bleed 
In this thy quarrell, if thou doe proceede. 

Daniel fS.J Civill Wars of England, 4to. Lond. 1599. 

^ To rid the realm of this pernicious hlot. 

According to some of the chroniclers, the Abbot of Westminster accused 
Henry of looking with a jealous eye upon the large revenues of the Church, a cir- 
cumstance that would, if believed, have been an unfailing source of his 
unpopularity with the clergy. 

There was at that time an Abbot of Westminster, one that applyed his 
studies, not as the most part, to cloake idlenesse and slouth under the glorious 
tytle of religion, but to enable himselfe for counsaile and direction in publique 
affayres ; who, for the generall opinion of his wisdome and integritie, was in 
good favour and credit with King Eichard, and did accompany him in his last 
voyage into Ireland. This Abbot called to his remembrance a speach which hee 
heard once fall from King Henry, when hee was but Earle of Derbie, and not yet 
come to any great stayednesse, eyther in yeares or judgement ; that princes had 
too little, and religious men too much. — Haywards Life of Henrie the Fourth, 

*^ Before I freely speah my mind herein. 

Meanes how to feele, and learne each others hart 
Ey th' Abbot now of Westminster is found. 



Who secretly disliking Henries part 
Invites these Lords, and those he ment to sound, 
Feasts them with cost, and drawes them on with art, 
And darke, and doubtful questions doth propound : 
Then plainer speakes, and yet uncertaine speakes, 
Then wishes wel, then ojff abruptly breakes. 

BaiiieVs Civill Wars of England, 4to. Lond. 1599. 

You shall not only tahe the sacrament. 

A solemne oth religiously they make 
By intermutuall vowes protesting there 
This never to reveale ; nor to forsake 
So good a cause, for daunger hope, or feare : 
The Sacrament the pledge of faith they take, 
And every man uppon his sword doth sweere 
By knighthood, honor, or what els should binde, 
To assecure the more each others minde, 

BanieVs Civill Wars of England^ 4to. Lond. 1599. 

To bury mine intents. 

That is, to conceal, to keep secret. So, in Every Man in his Humour, by Ben 
Jonson : — " Lock'd up in silence, midnight, buried here." — Steevens. 


SCENE I. — London. The Quay in front of the Tower' 

Enter Queen and Ladies. 

Queen. This way the king will come ; this is the way 
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower/ 
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord 
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke : 
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth 
Have any resting for her true king's queen. — 
But soft, but see, or rather do not see, 
My fair rose wither yet look up, behold, 
That you in pity may dissolve to dew. 
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. 

Enter King Richard and Guards. 

Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand,* 
Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb. 
And not King Richard ; thou most beauteous inn,"^ 
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee. 
When triumph is become an alehouse guest ? 

K. Rich. Join not with grief, ° fair woman, do not so, 
To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul, 

IX. 24 




To think our former state a liappy dream ;^ 
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are 
Shows us hut this : I am sworn hrother, sweet, 
To grim Necessity f and he and I 
Will keep a league till death. Ilie thee to France, 
And cloister thee in some religious house : 
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown. 
Which our profane hours here have stricken down. 

Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind 
Transform'd and weaken'd ? hath Bolinghroke depos'd 
Thine intellect ? hath he been in thy heart ? 
The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw. 
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage 
To be o'erpower'd ; and wilt thou, pupil-like. 
Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod, 
And fawn on rage with base humility. 
Which art a lion and a kins; of beasts ? 

K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed ; if aught but beasts 
I had been still a happy king of men. 
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France : 
Think I am dead ; and that even here thou tak'st. 
As from my death-bed, my last living leave. 
In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire 
With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales 
Of woeful ages long ago betid ; 
And ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief 
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,'' 
And send the hearers weeping to their beds : 
For why the senseless brands will sympathize 
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue. 
And in compassion weep the fire out ; 
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black. 
For the deposing of a rightful king. 

Enter Northumberland, attended. 

North. My lord, the mind of Bolinghroke is changed ; 
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. — 
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you ; 
With all swift speed you must away to France.^*' 

K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal 
The mounting Bolinghroke ascends my throne. 

ACT V. SC. I.] 



The time shall not be many hours of age 

More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head 

Shall break into corruption : thou shalt think, 

Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, 

It is too little, helping him to all ; 

And he shall think, that thou, which knovv'st the way 

To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again. 

Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way 

To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. 

The love of wicked friends converts to fear ; 

That fear to hate ; and hate turns one or both 

To worthy danger and deserved death. 

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. 
Take leave, and part ; for you must part forthwith. 

K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd ! — Bad men, ye violate 
A twofold marriage, — 'twixt my crown and me, 
And then betwixt me and my married wife. — 
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me ; 
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.^^ — 
Part us, Northumberland ; I towards the north. 
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime ; 
My wife to France, — from whence, set forth in pomp, 
She came adorned hither like sweet May, 
Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day. 

Queen. And must we be divided ? must we part ? 

K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. 

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. 

North. That were some love, but little policy. 

Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. 

K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. 
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here ; 
Better far off than near, — be ne'er the near.^' 
Go, count thy way with sighs ; I, mine with groans. 

Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans. 

K. Rich. Twice for one step FU groan, the way being short, 
And piece the way out with a heavy heart. 
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, 
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief : 
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part : 
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. V^^^^U 

Queen. Give me mine own again ; 'twere no good part 
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. \T^^^^y ^^^^ again. 

188 EICHAED THE SECOND. [act v. sc. ii. 

So, now I have mine own again, be gone, 
That I may strive to kill it with a groan. 

K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay : 
Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Langley.'" A Room in the Duke of York's Palace. 

Enter York, and his Duchess.^" 

Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest, 
When weeping made you break the story off 
Of our two cousins coming into London. 

York. Where did I leave? 

Duch. At that sad stop, my lord. 

Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops 
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head. 

York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, — 
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed. 
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, — 
With slow but stately pace kept on his course. 
While all tongues cried, " God save thee, Bolingbroke !" 
You would have thought the very windows spake. 
So many greedy looks of young and old 
Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
Upon his visage ; and that all the walls 
With painted imagery had said at once,^*' 
" Jesu preserve thee ! welcome, Bolingbroke !" 
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, 
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
Bespake them thus, — " I thank you, countrymen :" 
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 

Duch. Alas, poor Richard I where rode he the whilst ? 

York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men," 
After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage. 
Are idly bent on him that enters next, 
Thinking his prattle to be tedious ; 
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, " God save him !" 
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : 
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; 

ACT V. SC. II.] 


Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, — 

His face still combating with tears and smiles, 

The badges of his grief and patience, — 

That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd 

The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 

And barbarism itself have pitied him. 

But heaven hath a hand in these events, 

To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 

To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, 

Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. 

York. Aumerle that was ]^ 

But that is lost for being Richard's friend. 
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now : 
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth 
And lasting fealty to the new-made king. 

Enter Aumerle. 

Duch. Welcome, my son : who are the violets now 
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ? 

Aim. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not : 
God knows I had as lief be none as one. 

York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, 
Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. 
What news from Oxford ? hold those justs and triumphs ? 

Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 

York. You will be there, I know. 

Aim. If God prevent it not, I purpose so. 

York. What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom 
Yea, look'st thou pale ? let me see the writing. 

Amn. My lord, 'tis nothing. 

York. No matter, then, who sees it 

I will be satisfied ; let me see the writing. 

Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me : 
It is a matter of small consequence, 
Which for some reasons I would not have seen. 

York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. 
I fear, I fear, — 

Duch. What should you fear? 

'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into"^ 
For gay apparel against the triumph-day. 



[act v. sc. ir. 

York. Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond 
That he is bound to ? Wife, thou art a fool. — 
Boy, let me see the writing. 

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me ; I may not show it. 

York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say. 

[Snatches it, and reads. 
Treason ! foul treason ! — Villain ! traitor ! slave ! 

Duch. What 's the matter, my lord ? 

York. Ho ! who 's within there ? 

Enter a Servant. 

Saddle my horse. — 
God for his merey, what treachery is here ! 

Duch. Why, what is't, my lord? 

York. Give me my boots, I say ; saddle my horse. — 
Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth, 
I will appeach the villain. [Exit Servant. 

Duch. What 's the matter ? 

York. Peace, foolish woman. 

Duch.\ I will not peace. — What is the matter, son ? 
Aum. Good mother, be content ; it is no more 
Than my poor life must answer. 

Duch. Thy life answer ! 

York. Bring me my boots : — I will unto the king. 

Re-enter Servant, with hoots. 

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. — Poor boy, thou art amaz'd. — 
Hence, villain ! never more come in my sight. [To the Servant. 

York. Give me my boots, I say. 

Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do ? 
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own ? 
Have we more sons ? or are we like to have ? 
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time ? 
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, 
And rob me of a happy mother's name ? 
Is he not like thee ? is he not thine own ? 

York. Thou fond mad woman, 
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy ? 
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament. 




And interchangeably set down their hands/^ 
To kill the king at Oxford. 

Duch. He shall be none ; 

We'll keep him here : then what is that to him ? 

York. Away, fond woman ! were he twenty times my son, 
I would appeach him. 

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him 

As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. 
But now I know thy mind ; thou dost suspect 
That I have been disloyal to thy bed. 
And that he is a bastard, not thy son : 
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind : 
He is as like thee as a man may be. 
Not like to me, nor any of my kin. 
And yet 1 love him. 

York. Make way, unruly woman I [JSxit. 

Duch. After, Aumerle ! mount thee upon his horse ; 
Spur post, and get before him to the king. 
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. 
I'll not be long behind ; though I be old, 
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : 
And never will I rise up from the ground 
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone ! 

SCENE III. — Windsor. J Room in the Castle. 

Enter Bolingbroke as King, Percy, and other Lords. 

Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son ? 
'Tis full three months since I did see him last : — 
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. 
I would to God, my lords, he might be found : 
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, 
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent. 
With unrestrained loose companions, — 
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, 
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ; 
Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, 




[act v. sc. III. 

Takes on the point of honour to support 
So dissohite a crew. 

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince, 
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. 

BoUng. And what said the gallant ? 

Percy. His answer was, — he would unto the stews,^* 
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, 
And wear it as a favour ;~" and with that 
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. 

BoUng. As dissolute as desperate ; yet through both 
I see some sparks of better hope,^^ 
Which elder days may happily bring forth. — 
But who comes here? 

En ter A u m e rl e , hastily. 

Aiim. Where is the king? 

Boling. What means 

Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly ? 

Aum. God save your grace ! I do beseech your majesty, 
To have some conference with your grace alone. 

Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. 

\_Exeunt Percy and Lords. 
What is the matter with our cousin now ? 

Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, [Kneels. 
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth. 
Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. 

Boling. Intended or committed was this fault ? 
If on the first, how heinous e'er it be, 
To win thy after-love I pardon thee. 

Aum, Then give me leave that I may turn the key, 
That no man enter till my tale be done. 

Boling. Have thy desire. [Aumerle lochs the door. 

York [tvithin~\ . My liege, beware ; look to thyself ; 
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 

Boling. A^illain, I'll make thee safe. [Draivinf/. 

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand ; thou hast no cause to fear. 

York [icithinj. Open the door, secure, foolhardy king: 
Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face ? 
Open the door, or I will break it open. 

[BoLiNGBROKE iinlocks the door, and afterwards locks it again. 

ACT y. sc. III.] 



Enter York. 

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak; 
Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger, 
That we may arm us to encounter it. 

Yorh. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know 
The treason that my haste forbids me show. 

Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd : 
I do repent me ; read not my name there ; 
My heart is not confederate with my hand. 

York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it dosvn. — 
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king ; 
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence : 
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. 

Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy ! — 

0 loyal father of a treacherous son ! 

Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,^^ 
From whence this stream through muddy passages 
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself ! 
Thy overflow of good converts to bad 
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse 
This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 

York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd ; 
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame. 
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. 
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, 
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies : 
Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath, 
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. 

Ducli. [imthin']. What ho, my liege ! for God's sake, let me in. 

Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry ? 

Ducli. A woman, and thine aunt, great king ; 'tis I. 
Speak with me, pity me, open the door : 
A beggar begs that never begg'd before. 

Boling. Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing, 
And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King." " — 
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in : 

1 know she's come to pray for your foul sin. 

[AuMERLE unlocks the door. 

York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, 
IX. 25 


[act v. sc. III. 

More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. 
This fester'd joint eut off, tlie rest rests sound ; 
This let alone will all the rest confound. 

Enter Duchess. 

Duch. O king, helieve not this hard-hearted man ! 
Love loving not itself, none other can. 

Yoi'k. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?^^ 
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? 

Duch. Sweet York, be patient. — Hear me, gentle liege. 


Boling. Rise up, good aunt. 

Bach. Not yet, I thee beseech : 

For ever will I walk upon my knees,^" 
And never see day that the happy sees. 
Till thou give joy ; until thou bid me joy, 
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 

Aiim. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. [Kneels. 

York. Against them both my true joints bended be. [Kneels. 
Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! 

Duch. Pleads he in earnest look upon his face ; 
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest ; 
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast : 
He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; 
We pray with heart and soul, and all beside : 
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know ; 
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow : 
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; 
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. 
Our prayers do out-pray his ; then let them have 
That mercy which true prayers ought to have. 

Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. ^^Ji do not say stand up ;" 

But " pardon" first, and afterwards " stand up." 
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 
" Pardon" should be the first word of thy speech. 
I never long'd to hear a word till now ; 
Say " pardon," king ; let pity teach thee how : 
The word is short, but not so short as sweet ; 
No word like "pardon" for kings' mouths so meet. 

York. Speak it in French, king ; say, pardonnez moi. 



Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy ? 
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, 
That sett'st the word itself against the word ! — 
Speak " pardon" as 'tis current in our land ; 
The chopping French we do not understand.^* 
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there : 
Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear ; 
That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, 
Pity may move thee pardon" to rehearse. 

Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. I do not sue to stand ; 

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 

Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. 

Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee I 
Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ; 
Twice saying " pardon" doth not pardon twain, 
But makes one pardon strong. 

Boling. With all my heart 

I pardon him. 

Duch. A god on earth thou art. 

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, and the abbot,^^ 
With all the rest of that consorted crew. 
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. — 
Good uncle, help to order several powers 
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are : 
They shall not live within this world, I swear. 
But I will have them, if I once know where. 
Uncle, farewell : — and, cousin, adieu : 
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. 

Duch. Come, my old son : — I pray God make thee new. 


SCENE IV. — Hounslow Heath.'' A tent in the Kings Camp. 

Enter Sir Pierce of Exton, and a Servant. 

Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he 
spake, — 

" Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?"^' 
W^as it not so ? 



[act v. sc. v. 

SeriK Those were his very words. 

Urton. " Have I no friend ?" quoth he : he spake it twice, 
And urg-'d it twice together, — did he not ? 
Serv. lie did. 

Exton. And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me 
As who should say, — I would thou wert the man 
That would divorce this terror from my heart, — 
Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go : 
1 am the king's friend, and will rid his foe.^^ \Exeitnt. 

SCENE v.— Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle. 

Enter King Richard. 

K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare 
This prison where I live unto the world : 
And, for because the world is populous. 
And here is not a creature but myself, 
I cannot do it ; — yet I'll hammer 't out. 
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul, 
^ly soul the father : and these two beget 
xA generation of still-breeding thoughts. 
And these same thoughts people this little world 
In humours like the people of this world. 
For no thought is contented. The better sort, — 
As thoughts of things divine, — are intermix'd 
With scruples, and do set the word itself 
Against the word 

As thus, " Come, little ones ;" and then again, 
" It is as hard to come as for a camel 
To thread the postern of a needle's eye." 
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 
Unlikely wonders : how these vain weak nails 
^lay tear a passage through the flinty ribs 
Of this hard world, my ragged prison-walls ; 
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 
Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves 
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves. 
Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars, 
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame. 

ACT V. SC. v.] 



That many have, and others must sit there 

And in this thought they find a kind of ease, 

Bearing their own misfortune on the hack 

Of such as have before endur'd the hke. 

Thus play I, in one person,*^ many people, 

And none contented : sometimes am I king ; 

Then treason makes me vs^ish myself a beggar, 

And so I am : then crushing penury 

Persuades me I was better when a king ; 

Then am I king'd again : and by and by 

Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, 

And straight am nothing : — but whate'er I am. 

Nor I, nor any man that but man is, 

With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd 

With being nothing. — Music do 1 hear? [Music. 

Ha, ha ! keep time : — how sour sweet music is. 

When time is broke and no proportion kept ! 

So is it in the music of men's lives. 

And here have I the daintiness of ear 

To check time broke in a disorder'd string , 

But, for the concord of my state and time, 

Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me ; 

For now hath time made me his numbering clock : 

My thoughts are minutes ; and, with sighs, they jar 

Their watches on unto mine eye,** the outward watch. 

Whereto my finger, like a dial's point. 

Is pointing still, in cleansing it from tears. 

Now, sir, the sounds that tell what hour it is,*^ 

Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart. 

Which is the bell : so sighs and tears and groans 

Show minutes, times, and hours : — but my time 

Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy. 

While I stand fooling here, his Jack-o'-the-clock.*° 

This music mads me ; let it sound no more ; 

For though it have holp madmen to their wits, 

In me it seenis it will make wise men mad. 

Yet, blessing on his heart that gives it me ! 

For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard 

Is a strange brooch*^ in this all-hating world. *^ 



[act v. sc. v. 

Enter Groom. 

Groom. Hail, royal prince ! 

K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer ; 

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
What art thou and how com'st thou hither. 
Where no man never comes, but that sad dog*" 
That brings me food to make misfortune live ? 

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, 
When thou wert king ; who, travelling towards York, 
With much ado at length have gotten leave 
To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.^'^ 
O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld, 
In London streets, that coronation-day, 
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, — 
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, 
That horse that I so carefully have dress'd ! 

K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary Tell me, gentle friend, 
How went he under him ? 

Groom. So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground. 

K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back ! 
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; 
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. 
Would he not stumble ? would he not fall down — 
Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck 
Of that proud man that did usurp his back? 
Forgiveness, horse I why do I rail on thee, 
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man. 
Wast born to bear ? I was not made a horse ; 
And yet I bear a burden like an ass, 
Spur-gall'd and tir'd by jauncing Bolingbroke.^^ 

Enter Keeper, icith a dish. 

Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer stay. 

\To the Groom. 
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. 
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. 


Keep. My lord, will 't please you to fall to ? 


ACT V. SC. VI.] 



K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. 

Keep. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton, 
Who lately came from the king, commands the contrary. 

K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee ! 
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the Keeper. 

Keep. Help, help, help ! 

Enter Sir Pierce of Exton and Servants, armed.^^ 

K. Rich. How now ! what means death in this rude assault ? 
Villain, thine own hand yields thy death's instrument. 

[Snatching a iceapon and killing a Servant. 
Go thou, and fill another room in hell. 

[He kills another Servant. Then Exton strikes him down. 
That hand shall hurn in never-quenching fire 
That staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce hand 
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. 
Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ; 
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to die.^* [Dies. 

Kxton. As full of valour as of royal blood : 
Both have I spilt ; — O, would the deed were good ! 
For now the devil, that told me I did well. 
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
This dead king to the living king I'll bear : — 
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI.— Windsor. A Room in the Castle. 

Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke as King, York, Lords, and 


Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear 
Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire 
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire 
But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. 

Enter Northumberland. 
Welcome, my lord : what is the news ? 



[act v. sc. VI. 

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. 
The next news is, I have to London sent"^** 
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent 
The manner of their taking may appear 

At large discoursed in this paper here. [Presenting a paper. 

BoUng. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains ; 
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. 

Enter Fitz-walter. 

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London 
The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, 
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors 
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. 

BoUng. Thy pains, Fitz-walter, shall not be forgot ; 
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 

Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. 

Percy. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, 
With clog of conscience and sour melancholy. 
Hath yielded up his body to the grave 
But here is Carlisle living, to abide 
Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. 

Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom — 
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room. 
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life ; 
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife : 
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, 
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.'^° 

Enter Sir Pierce of Exton, tvith Attendants bearing a cojp^n. 

Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present 
Thy buried fear : herein all breathless lies 
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, 
Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. 

Boling. Exton, I thank thee not : for thou hast wrought 
A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand. 
Upon my head and all this famous land. 

Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed."^ 

Boling. They love not poison that do poison need. 

ACT V. SC. VI.] 



Nor do I thee : though I did wish him dead, 

I hate the murderer, love him murdered. 

The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, 

But neither my good word nor princely favour : 

With Cain go wander through the shade of night,"^ 

And never show thy head by day nor light. — 

Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe. 

That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow : 

Come, mourn with me for that I do lament. 

And put on sullen black incontinent : 

I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, 

To wash this blood off from my guilty hand : — 

IVJarch sadly after ; grace my mournings here, 

lu weeping after this untimely bier. [Ei'eunf. 



^ The Quay in front of the Tower. 

As the king was conveyed from Westminster to the Tower of London by 
water, the present scene must be laid on the platform now called the Tower 
"Wharf, near the Traitor's Gate. We must suppose that he lands on those steps 
in the precincts of the Tower which are nearest to him in coming from 
Westminster, and which, as the old maps show, are close to the last outer wall. 
If he landed at this spot, he must walk along the platform towards the Traitor's 
Gate, and if the Queen be supposed to be waiting for him on that path, the 
conditions of the scene are well preserved, the large tower in the middle of the 
fortress, popularly called Julius Caesar's tower, being visible from that part of the 

According to Stow, in concluding his relation of the journey of the King and 
Bolingbroke to London, " when the Duke came within two miles of the Citie, the 
duke caused the hoste to stay, and then said to the commons of the Citie, My 
maisters, beholde here youre King ; consider what yee will doe wytli him. They 
answered they woulde he should be ledde to Westminster, whereuppon he was 
delivered unto them, and they ledde him to Westminster, and from thence by 
water to the Tower of London." According to another account, in the MS. 
Ambassades, Richard was taken to the Tower from Westminster through the 
streets of London, — " The duke then sent for the king, who arrived with his face 
bathed in tears, and delivered him in charge to the mayor and commons of the 
city, who carried him to Westminster. Next day the king was carried through 
the city from Westminster on a sorry horse, with an open space around him, that 
all might see him, and lodged in the Tower. Some had pity of him, but others 
expressed great joy, abusing him, and saying, — Now are we avenged of this little 
bastard, who has governed us so ill." 

^ To Julius Casar's ill-erected tower. 

The Tower of London was traditionally said to have been the work of Julius 
Csesar. Old Stowe says, " it hath bene the common opinion, and some have 
written, but of none assured ground, that Julius C53esar, the first Conqueror of the 



Britaines, was the originall author and founder, as well thereof, as also of many 
other towers, castles, and great buildings within this realme. Eut, as I have 
already before noted, Caisar remained not here so long, nor had lie in his head 
any such matter, but onely to despatch a conquest of this barbarous countrey, and 
to proceed to greater matters. Neither doe the Romane writers make mention of 
any such buildings erected by him here," Ill-erected means erected for evil 
purposes, or, perhaps, inauspiciously erected. 

That part of the Tower of Jjondon, which is reported to have been built by 
Julius Cfesar, is a very small portion of the present building; it stands nearest to 
the entrance, and is distinguished by the wardours, who attend occasional visitors, 
by the Black Tower.— if aS'. circa 1790. 

^ My fair rose tvitJier. 

The king Richard of Yngland 
Wes in his flowris than regnand : — 
Bot his flowris eftyr sone 

Eadyt, and ware all undone. — Wyntowris CronyTcil. 
* Ah, tJioii, the model cohere old Troy did stand. 

The Queen uses comparative terras absolutely. Instead of saying. Thou loho 
appearest as the ground on which the magnificence of Troy was once erected, she 
says : — " Ah, thou the model, &c. — Thou map of honour thou picture of 
greatness. — Johnson. 

Model, it has already been observed, is used by our author, for a thing made 
after a pattern. He is, I believe, singular in this use of the word. Thou ruined 
majesty, says the Queen, that resemhlest the desolated waste where Troy once 
stood. So, before: — "Who was the model of thy father's life." In our author's 
Rape of Lucrece, sleep is called " the map of death." — Malone. 

^ Thou most beauteous inn. 

The term inn was formerly applied to any house or lodging, and this seems to 
be the meaning in the present passage. An inn was originally a dwelling — a 
place of cover or protection. We have still the Inns of Court ; Lord Braybrooke's 
seat in Essex, commonly called Audley-End, is, properly, Audley-Inn. When the 
queen opposes the term alehouse to inn, she certainly does not mean, as Monck 
Mason thinks, to discriminate between two classes of houses of entertainment, but 
between a public-house and a " beauteous mansion." — Knight. 

Syre Siraonde de Mountfort hath suore bi ys chyn, 

Hevede he nou here the erle of Waryn, 

Shuld he never more come to is yn. — Pol. Song. 

^ Join not with grief. 

Do not thou unite with grief against me ; do not, by thy additional sorrows, 
enable grief to strike me down at once. My own part of sorrow I can bear, but 
thy affliction will immediately destroy me. — Johnson. 

"' To think our former state a happy dream. 

Richard was now in his thirtieth year, and the queen in her eleventh, but 
there can be no doubt that Shakespeare intended to represent her as a mature 
woman, and it is necessary, for the sake of the play, that she should be so 
considered. There is, however, good evidence that Richard, notwithstanding her 
tender years, entertained a romantic affection for her. He espoused her in 1396, 
when she was only eiglit years old, and, according to Froissart, when he was told 
that " the lady was by far too young," he replied by saying, that " every day she 




would encrease in age. In addition to this, he gave pleasantly his reasons for his 
preferring her, that since she was so young, he should educate her, and bring lier 
up to his own mind, and to the manners of the English ; and that for lumself he 
was young enough to wait till she was of a proper age for his wife." Creton 
relates that when Eichard was at Conway, he burst out into the following 
lamentations over his separation from Isabel, — " My mistress and my consort ! 
accursed be the man, little doth he love us, who thus shamefully separateth us 
two. I am dying of grief because of it. My fair sister, my lady, and my sole 
desire. Since I am robbed of the pleasure of beholding thee, such pain and 
affliction oppresseth my whole heart, that oftentimes I am hard upon despair. 
Alas ! Isabel, rightful daughter of France, you were wont to be my joy, my hope, 
and my consolation ; I now plainly see that through the great violence of fortune, 
which hath slain many a man, I must wrongfully be removed from you. Wliereat 
I often endure at heart so severe a pang that day and night I am in danger of 
bitter and certain death. And it is no wonder, considering ray misfortune, who 
from such a height have fallen thus low, and lose my joy, my solace, and my 
consort. I plainly see too that no one maketh a secret of vexing and cheating 
me ; alas ! every one attacketh or hateth me : still praised be God in his holy 
heavens above. Thus spake the king, while his eyes wept piteously ; for he could 
do no better at that time." It is scarcely necessary to observe that Uichard never 
saw the queen after his departure for Ireland, and that the present scene is wholly 

* / am sworn brother to grim necessHij. 

I have reconciled myself to necessity, I am in a state of amity with the 
constraint which I have sustained. The expression — Bworn brother, alludes to the 
fratres jurati, who, in the ages of adventure, bound themselves by mutual oaths 
to share fortunes together. — Steevens. 

Tell thou the lamentatAe tale of me. 

Tale, ed. 1597 ; fall, ed. 1623, which latter reading has been considered one 
of Shakespeare's own emendations ; but it was much more probably a misprint in 
the folio, 1623, which, in most respects, slavishly follows the text of the latest 
quarto before its time, that of 1615 : the word there is tale, as it had been in the 
earlier editions in the same form, of 1597, 1598, and 1608. — Collier. 

^" You must airay to France. 

Shortly after King Henrie sent the Lady Isabell under the conducte of Lorde 
Thomas Piercy Earle of Worcester, in royall estate to Calice ; she was accompanied 
with a great troupe of honourable personages, both men and women ; and carried 
with her all the jewelles and plate which shee brought into England, with a great 
surple-sage of rich gifts. — Ilayioard's Life of Henrie the Fourth, 1599. 

11 JPor icifh a kiss 'twas made. 
A kiss appears to have been an established circumstance in our ancient nuptial 
ceremony. So, in Marston's Insatiate Countess, 1613, the Duke, on parting with 
his wife, says to her: — "The kiss thou gav'st me in the church, here take." — 

^~ Better far off than near, — be ne'er the near. 

That is, be never the nearer. Eichard says, we had better be far off than near, 
better be never nearer than France is to England. The expression, ne'er the near, is 
very common in our old writers. " So longe we may goo seeke — For that which is 
not farre, — Till ended be the week, — And we never the narre,'' MS. Cotton. Yespas. 



A. XXV. "Of friends, of foes, behold my foule expence, and never the neere," 
]Mirroiir for Magistrates. "Poorc men put up bils every day, and notliing the 
lu'crc," Latimer's Sermons. " Much will be said, and ne'er a whit the near," 
Drayton. "Early up, and nere the neere," Scourge of Folly, 1611. "Far off, 
and ne'er the near," Fair Maid of the Excliange, 1625. " My friends if you will 
understand — My fortunes what they are — I once had cattle house and land — Eut 
now am nercr the nearT old ballad. 

Though thow him seche thes seven yer, 
Thow worst that child never the ner. 

Sir Beces of llamtotm, Auchinleck MS. 

Compel the hauke to sit, that is unraann'd, 
Or make the hound untaught to draw the deere, 
Or bring the free against his will in band, 
Or move the sad a pleasant tale to hear, 
Your time is lost, and you are never the near. 

Churchyard'' 8 Legend of Shore'' s Wife, 1578. 

Eut when I had perusde them over well, 
Was neare the nere in knowing thy intent. 

The Forrest of Fancy, 4to, Lond. 1579. 

Eut what shall I doe ? is it best that I goe to him, and taunt and take him 
up for his injurie ? I shall give him shrewd words his fill. Eut one may say to me, 
thou shalt be never the neare ; yes, very much; without doubt I shall anger him, 
and withall shall ease my owne minde. — Terence in English, 1614. 

Some to Yorkes Archbishop, and some to Hull, 
Eut had the twelve Apostles sure beene there 
My witnesses, I had beene ne'r the neere. 
And let me use all oathes that I could use, 
They still were harder of beliefe then Jewes. 

The WorJces of Taylor the Water-Poet, 1630. 

Nay, quoth he, if he be not able to pay me when he is at liberty, he will never 
be able to pay me in prison, and therefore it were as good for me to forbear my 
money without troubling him, as to add more trouble to his grieved heart, and he 
never the near. — Historic of Jack of Neiohury. 

The men were no sooner kill'd but they started up alive again, and put him to 
new trouble ; so that after he had sweat, and toil'd, and moil'd, and laid about 
him like another Sampson, the victory was never the nearer. — The Pagan Prince, 

And hill thy heart. 

So, in our author's Venus and Adonis : — " they have murder' d this poor heart 
of mine." Again, in King Henry V., "—he'll yield the crow a pudding one of 
these days : the king hath h'llVd his hearth — Steevens. 


Ko place for this scene is given in the old editions, and the modern editors 
assign it to London, which seems inconsistent with the first speech of the Duchess. 
According to Hohnshed, the Earl of Eutland had departed ''■from Westminster, 
to see his father, tlie duke of Yorke." It seems, therefore, most probable that the 
scene should be laid at Langley. 

And Ms Duchess. 

The first wife of Edmund, Duke of York, was Isabella, the younger daughter 



and co-heir of Peter, king of Castile and Leon, called the Cruel. He married her 
in 1372, and by her he had the Duke of Aumerle, and all his other children. In 
introducing her in the scene in the present play, our poet has departed more 
widely from history than he has done in making Richard's queen sustain the part 
he has assigned to her ; for Isabella of Erance, who, as has been already observed, 
was a child in 1398, he has introduced as a woman ; but the Duchess of York he 
has summoned from the grave, for she died in the year 1394, four or five years 
before the commencement of the present play. After her death, the Duke of York 
married Joan, daughter of John Holland, Earl of Kent, who survived him about 
thirty-four years, and had afterwards three other husbands. — Malone. 

^® With painted imagry. 

This is perhaps in allusion to the painted cloths that were hung in the streets, 
in the pageants that were exhibited in his own time ; in which the figures some- 
times had labels issuing from their mouths, containing sentences of gratulation. — 

'^'^ As in a theatre, the eyes of men. 

I cannot leave this subject before I do justice to that divine poet, by giving 
you one of his passionate descriptions ; 'tis of Richard the Second when he was 
depos'd, and led in triumph through the streets of London by Henry of 
Bullingbrook ; the painting of it is so lively, and the words so moving, that I have 
scarce read any thing comparable to it, in any other language. Suppose you have 
seen already the fortunate usurper passing through the croud, and follow'd by the 
shouts and acclamations of the people ; and now behold King Richard entring 
upon the scene; consider the wretchedness of his condition, and his carriage in it; 
and refrain from pitty if you can. To speak justly of this whole matter; 'tis 
neither height of thought that is discommended, nor pathetic vehemence, nor any 
nobleness of expression in its proper place ; but 'tis a false measure of all these, 
something which is like 'em, and is not them; 'tis the Bristol-stone, which appears 
like a diamond ; 'tis an extravagant thought, instead of a sublime one ; 'tis roaring 
madness instead of vehemence ; and a sound of words, instead of sence. If 
Shakespear were stript of all the bombast in his passions, and dress'd in the most 
vulgar words, we should find the beauties of his thoughts remaining; if his 
embroideries were burnt down, there would still be silver at the bottom of the 
melting-pot ; but I fear (at least, let me fear it for myself) that we who ape his 
sounding words, have nothing of his thought, but are all out-side ; there is not so 
much as a dwarf within our giants cloaths. Therefore, let not Shakespear suffer 
for our sakes ; 'tis our fault, who succeed him in an age which is more refin'd, if 
we imitate him so ill, that we coppy his failings only, and make a virtue of that in 
our writings, which in his was an imperfection. — Drydeiis Preface to his Troilus 
and Cressida, 1679. 

Richard the Second his Life and Death; a tragedy, which is extreamly 
commended even by Mr. Dryden, in his Grounds of Criticisme in tragedy, printed 
before Troilus and Cressida: and Mr. Tate, who altered this play in 1081, says, 
that there are some master-touches in this play, that will vye with the best Roman 
poets. Eor the plot, consult the Chronicles of Harding, Caxton, Walsingham, 
Eabian, Pol. Virgil, Grafton, Hollingshead, Stow, Speed, &c. — Langbaine, 1691. 

Aumerle that was. 

The Dukes of Aumerle, Surrey, and Exeter, were, by an act of Henry's first 
parliament, deprived of their dukedoms, but were allowed to retain their earldoms 
of Rutland, Kent, and Huntingdon. — Holinshed, p. 513, 514. — Stcevens. 



What seal is that that hangs without thy hosom. 

Tlie seals of deeds were formerly impressed on slips or labels of parchment 
np])ciuled to them. The Great Seal is applied in a similar manner at the present 

"° No matter, then, icho sees it. 

Shakespeare has taken his account of the disclosure of Rutland's conspiracy 
from Ilolinshed, but there seems to be strong grounds for believing that he 
betrayed his associates under pretence of an accidental discovery. According to 
an early ]\IS. account, — "The Duke of Aumarle was dining that day with his 
fatlier the Duke of York in London ; and during dinner he put the letter relating 
to their design upon the table. ' What letter is that?' said the Duke of York. 
' It is not for you, sir,' replied Aumarle, taking olf his hat to his father. ' Shew 
it me,' said the Duke of York, ' I wish to see it.' Aumarle then gave it to him ; 
and wlien he had seen the six seals and read the letter he broke out into bitter 
reproaches against his son ; and, ordering his horses, set off to Windsor to inform 
King Henry of the plot. But Aumarle got the start of him, and was the first to 
communicate the intelligence, which Henry could hardly credit, till his uncle 
arrived with the sealed indentures." Creton's account is as follows, — " Thus 
stood the matter till the approach of Christmas, when the duke went to Windsor 
to be judge of the approaching tournament {feste). Then the Duke of Surrey 
and the Earl of Salisbury, who reckoned upon nothing but accomphshing their 
work, wrote a letter, which they sent to London by a person who was in the 
secret, to the Earl of Rutland, who was at that time Duke of Aumarle, beseeching 
him that he would be ready to come to them in person for the fulfilment of their 
purpose, and of the vows that they promised together ; and that he would bring 
all his people with him, in order that if any should oppose them, they might slay 
them, or take and put them immediately to death. But when the Duke of 
Aumarle saw the summons and the contents of the letter, in which he was holden 
by his promise and faith that he pledged, he feigned a shew of great desire to set 
out with all haste to obey the message of the lords. Alas ! he was not sincere. 
Never will there be his equal ; for the letter of the lords he carried straight to the 
old duke his father, neither favoured he them at all. He also knew for certain 
that the duke his father neither loved them nor King Richard in the least, but 
was entirely bound by liege homage to the side of Duke Henry. And when he 
saw the language of the letter, and the whole manner of it, he maliciously spoiled 
the sport; and assembling many of his people said to them, 'Bring my son with 
all speed to the king, that he may relate to him the mischief that is designed 
against him. I think their business is a bad one.' The Duke of Aumarle quitted 
his father in such haste, that he alighted not till he came to Windsor, gave the 
letter to Duke Henry, and declared to him the whole affair. But the duke 
believed it not ; till on the self-same day, in great haste came the mayor of 
London without stopping, who informed him anew of the whole matter from 
beginning to end. And when Duke Henry heard it, on no account would he 
abide there longer ; to horse he went right soon ; for fear that he should be over- 
come of his enemies upon that very day. He took the road to London where the 
mayor also with his people made diligent speed ; but or ere they could reach 
London, those who greatly desired to put him to death were already in the castle 
of Windsor to accomplish their business. But when they knew that the duke 
was gone forth, they were sore troubled that they had not caught him, and that 
he had thus escaped." 



Some bond that he is enter' d into. 

Instead of that he is, we have he's substituted in the editions of Pope, 
Theobald, and Hanraer, — those earlier editors allowing themselves such liberties 
with the text as their successors dare not take, even in passages which are most 
probably corrupted. — D?/ce. 

And interchangeably set doicn their hands. 

This devise was no sooner uttered, then allowed and applauded of the rest of 
the confederates ; and so resolving upon the enterprize, they tooke an oath upon 
the Evangelistes, the one to be true and secret to the other, even to the houre 
and point of death : the Lords also made an indenture sextipartite wherein they 
bound themselves, to do their best assay, for the death of the one king and 
deliverance of the other ; this they sealed and subscribed, and delivered to every 
Lord a counter-pane of the same : and further they concluded what forces should 
be gathered, by whom, how they should be ordered and placed, and to whose trust 
the execution should be committed. — Hay ward's Life of Henrie the Fourth, 1599. 

Enquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there. 

Shakespeare seldom attended to chronology. The prince was at this time but 
twelve years old, for he was born in 1388, and the conspiracy on which the present 
scene is formed, was discovered in the beginning of the year 1400. — He scarcely 
frequented taverns or stews at so early an age. He afterwards highly distinguished 
himself at the battle of Shrewsbury, in 1403, when he was but fifteen. The 
])eriod of his dissipation was afterwards, probably between the year 1405 and 1409, 
that is, between the age of seventeen and twenty-one. — Malone. 

He loould unto the stews. 

Thomas Elmham, prior of Lenton, who was contemporary with Henry the 
Fifth, and wrote a long account of his life, thus speaks of him in his early days, — 
" Pro tempore juveniutis lascivim anmlator assiduus, instrumentis organicis 
pluriraum deditus, laxo pudicitise freno, licet Martis tamen Veneris railicia 
ferventer militans, ipsius facibus juveniliter sestuabat, aliis quoque insolentiis, 
setatis indomitse tempora concomitantibus, inter proba gesta militaria vacare 

And wear if as a favour. 

While the spirit of chivalry lasted, the glove of a lady worn in the helmet, as 
a favour, was a very honourable token ; and much of the wearer's success was 
supposed to be derived from the virtue of the lady ; whence this boast of Henry 
of Monmouth. At the battle of Agincourt, according to Drayton, all the noble 
youth were distinguished by such tokens : — 

One wore his mistress' garter, one her glove, — And he a lock of his dear lady's 

And he her colours whom he most did love ; — There was not one but did some 
favour wear. 

We have, indeed, the same account in sober history : — " One part had their 
plumes at whyt, another hadde them at redde, and the thyrde had them of several 
colours. One ware on his headpiece his ladies sieve, and another bare on hys 
helme the glove of his dearlynge," Hall's Chronicle. — Nares. 

During the middle ages they were frequently attached to the knightly helmet 
in the tournament; a custom alluded to by Marlow, in his Edward II, 1599 : — 
" Nodding and shaking of thy spangled crest, — AVhere women's favors hung like 
labels down." 

IX. 27 


So, in Promos and Cassandra, 1578, Lamia, the strumpet, says : — 
Who loves me once is Ijmed to my heast, 
]\Iy colour some, and some shall wear my glove. 

Again, in the Shoemaker's Holiday, or Gentle Craft, 1600 : — 
Or shall I undertake some martial sport 
AYearing- your (jJove at turney or at tilt, 
And tell how many gallants I unhors'd ? — Steevens. 

/ see some sparl's of letter hope. 

So the quarto, 1597. The quarto of 1598 alters " sparks" to sparJcles, which 
error the two quartos of 1G08 and 1615 adopt. The folio, 1623, returns to 
" sparks." Bolingbroke afterwards speaks of " sparlcs of honour." The usual 
modern reading is, — " I see some sparkles o/'a letter liope.'' — Collier. 

If on the first. 

So the old copies. " If your fault stand only on intention." Pope and tlie 
subsequent editors read hnt, which affords an easy sense ; but it is very unlikely 
that a compositor should print on for lut. — Malone. 

Thou sheer^ immaculate, and silver fountain. 

Sheer is, pellucid, transparent. Some of the modern editors arbitrarily read 
clear. So, in Spenser's Eairy Queen, b. iii. c. ii. : — " Who having viewed in a 
fountain shere — Her face," &c. Again, in b. iii. c. xi. : — " That she at last came 
to a fountain shere." Again, in the fourth book of Gelding's translation of Ovid's 
Metamorphosis, 1587 : — " The water was so pure and sheere" &c. Transparent 
muslin is still called sheer muslin. — Steevens. 

Thy overflow of good converts to lad. 

Theobald reads, the lad, that is, so alters, and alleviates, the heinousness of 
thy son's trespass, that I forgive it on the score of thy superabundant goodness. — 

The old reading — converts to lad, is right, I believe, though Theobald did not 
understand it. " The overflow of good in thee is turned to bad in thy son ; and 
that same abundant goodness in thee shall excuse his transgression." — Tyrwhitt. 

The Beggar and the King. 

Alluding most probably to the ballad of King Cophetua, which we have 
already noticed. It is alluded to, in nearly the same terms, in Cynthia's Revenge, 

Provoke thy sharpe Melpomene to sing 
The story of a Beggar and the King. 

The ballad referred to was generally entitled. King Cophetua and the Beggar 
Maid ; and is printed in Eich. Johnson's Crown Garland of Goulden Eoses, 1612, 
where it is entitled, simply, A Song of a Beggar and a King. 

What dost thou malce here ? 

In some editions, malce is improperly altered to do. The expression, though 
now obsolete, frequently occurs in these plays. So, in the Merry Wives of 
Windsor : — " What male you here ?" Again, in Othello : — " Ancient, what 
mahes he here." — Malone. 

For ever will I walk upon my Jcnees. 
Walk, eds. 1597, 1598, 1608, 1615; hieel, ed. 1623. In our author's time 



it was common, in speaking of a loquacious person, to say, " his tongue walJcs 
fast." See also the 128th Sonnet : 

They would change their state 

And situation with those dancing chips, 
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait. 

The present metaphor is surely not more violent ; it gives indeed a spirit and 
force to the line which is destroyed by the other phrase ; to which it is a sufficient 
objection to ask, on what but her Jcnees could the Duchess Icneel ? By saying 
that she will for ever walk upon her knees, she means she will never rise more, and 
ever move from place to place on her knees, till the king has granted her request. 
The tautological expression obtained by adopting the reading of the folio is not in 
itself objectionable, and indeed occurs shortly afterwards, — " our knees shall 
kneel." In the Communion Service we have " meekly kneeling on your knees." 

The verb walk was, however, formerly used with great license, " And so 
finding my hand unable to tcalh any farther, I take my leave of your good lord- 
ship," Letter from lord Burghley to lord Essex. Again, in Eennor's Compter's 
Commonwealth, 1618 : " The keeper admiring that he could not hear his 
prisoner's tongue walk all this while, &c." 

Pleads he in earnest ? 

Nay, so close is the connection between certain sentiments and the proper 
manner of pronouncing them, that he who does not pronounce them after that 
manner, can never persuade us that he believes, or feels, the sentiments themselves. 
His delivery may be such as to give the lie to all that he asserts. When Marcus 
Callidius accused one of an attempt to poison him, but enforced his accusation in 
a languid manner, and without any warmth or earnestness of delivery, Cicero, who 
pleaded for the accused person, improved this into an argument of the falsity of 
the charge, " An tu, M. Callidi, nisi fingeres, sic ageres ?" — Blair s Lectures on 

The chopping French we do not understand. 

Chopping, I believe, here means jahhering, talking flippantly a language 
unintelligible to Englishmen. I do not remember to have met the word, in this sense, 
in any other place. In the universities they talk of chopping logic; and our 
author, in Borneo and Juliet, has the same phrase : — " How now ! how now ! chop 
logic — Malone. 

Chopping means changing ; it is commonly used in speaking of exchanging 
things by way of barter, but in vulgar discourse it is very usually applied to the 
wind : when the wind suddenly blows from an opposite quarter, it is said to have 
chopped about; and in this sense the Duchess of York may apply the word to the 
Erench expression of Pardonnez moi, which gives a directly opposite meaning to 
the English word pardon, in the way she wishes the king to speak it. — Pge. 

"Such chopping cheare as we have made," Conflict of Conscience, 1581. 
" One caveat, good reader, and then God speed thee. Let me intreat thee, not to 
give my booke the chopping censure. A word old enough, yet would have a 
comment. Do not open it at a ventures, and by reading the broken pieces of two 
or three lines, judge it. But read it through, and then I beg no pardon, if thou 
dislikest it," Adams' Devills Banket Described, 1614. 

Our trusty hrother-in-laii\ and the ahhof. 

So the quartos : the folio reads " our trusty brother-in-law, the abbot." The 
abbot of Westminster was not brother-in-law to the king, but the duke of Exeter, 




wlio had married with the lady EHzabcth Plantagcnet, sister of Henry Boling- 

IToKusloio IleaUi. 

The present short scene is generally laid at Windsor, but the new king had 
left that place, almost immediately after the breaking out of the rebellion, and 
gone to the metropolis, after which, says, Holinshed, " issuing out of London with 
twentie thousand men, came streight to Hunslo heath, and there pitched his 
campe to abide the comming of his enimies." The words supposed to have been 
spoken by the king would be more natural and significant if uttered at that 
time, than afterwards, when the rebellion was suppressed. The time, also, is 
consistent with the facts of the next scene, for it would take some days for Exton 
to go to Pomfret, and make preparations, added to which, it seems, from a speech 
of the keeper, that he was some little while at Pomfret before the commission of 
the murder. 

Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear. 

The most current report at that time went, that hee was princely served every 
day at the table, with aboundance of costly meates, according to the order pre- 
scribed by Parlament, but was not suffered to tast or touche any one of them ; and, 
so perished of famine ; being tormented with the presence of that, whereof he 
dyed for want, but such horrible and unnaturall cruelty, both against a King and 
a kinseman, should not proceed from King Henry (me thinke) a man of a 
moderate and milde disposition, nor yet from any other minde which is not 
altogether both savage in humanitie, and in religion prophane. One wrighter who 
would seeme to have the perfect intelligence of these affayres, maketh report, that 
King Henry sitting at his table sad and pensive, with a deepe sigh brake foorth 
into these wordes ; Have I no faithfull friend that wil deliver me of him, wliose 
life wil breed destruction to me and disturbance to the realme, and whose death 
will bee a safetie and quiet to both ? for how can I be free from feare, so long as 
the cause of my daunger doth continue ? and what securitie, what hope shall we 
have of peace unlesse the seed of sedition be utterly rooted out ?' — Hay ward's Life 
of Henrie the Fourth, 1599. 

He knew this time, and yet he would not seeme 
Too quicke to wrath, as if affecting bloud ; 
But yet complaines so far, that men might deeme 
He would twere done, and that he thouglit it good ; 
And wisht that some would so his life esteeme, 
As rid him of these feares wherein he stood. 

BanieVs Civill Wars of England, 4to. Lond, 1599. 

Send to your father eke, he shall appease 
Your kindled minds, and rid you of this feare. 

The Tragedy of Ferrex and Forrea'. 

He wistly loolcd on me. 

Wishtly, eds. 1597, 1598 ; tcistly, later eds. The latter word is common in 
the sense of, earnestly, with eager attention, from imt. " And thus environed 
with troupes of armed souldiors and gowned citizens, conveyed hee was along as in 
battaile ray, having the eyes of all men fastened loislly upon him, not onely witli 
an earnest looke, but also with much admiration," Ammianus Marcellinus, tr. 
Holland, 1609. 

When Sir Eichard Nepier M.D. of London, was upon the road coming from 
Bedfordshire the chamberlain of the inn shewed him his chamber, the doctor saw 



a dead man lying upon the bed ; he look'd more wistly and saw it was himself. 
He was then well enough in health. He goes forward in his journey — to Mr. 
Steward's in Berkshire, and there died. This account I have in a letter from 
Elias Ashmole Esquire. — Aubrey s Miscellanies, p. 91. 

And therewith eies a knight, that then was by, 

Who soone could learne his lesson by his eie. 

The man he knew was one that willingly 

Eor one good looke would hazard soule and all, 

An instrument for any villanie. 

That needed no commission more at all : 

A great ease to the king that should hereby 

Not need in this a course of justice call. 

Nor seeme to wil the act, for though what's wrought 

Were his own deed, he grieves should so be thought. 

DanieVs Civill Wars of England, 4to. Lond. 1599. 

And will rid Ids foe. 

To rid and to dispatch were formerly synonymous, as may be seen in the old 
dictionaries, " To ridde or dispatche himself of any man." — " To disjKitche or ridde 
one quickly." Vide Baret's Alvearie, 1570, in Eidde and Dispatche. So in 
King Henry YI. Part ii. — " As deathsmen you have rid this sweet young prince." 
— Singer. 

^ People this little tcorld. 

That is, his own frame, — " the state of man ;" which in our author's Julius 
Csesar is said to be " like a little kingdom," So also, in his Lover's Complaint : 
— " Storming my 'world with sorrow's wind and rain." Again, in King Lear : — 
" Strives in this little icorld of man to outscorn — The to-and-fro-conflicting wind 
and rain." — Malone. 

Shakespeare here uses the philosophy which is thus described by Baleigh : — 
" Because in the little frame of man's body there is a representation of the 
universal, and (by allusion) a kind of participation of all the parts there, therefore 
was man called microcosmos, or the little world," History of the World. — Knight. 

*^ The word itself against the word. 

By the word, I suppose, is meant, the holy word. The folio reads : — " — the 
faith itself — Against the faith.'" The reading of the text is that of the first quarto, 
1597. — Steevens. 

Thy irord, eds. 1598, 1608, 1615. The quarto of 1597 reads—" The word 
itself against the word ;" which is, perhaps, better taken singly. But in the third 
scene of this act the duchess uses precisely the same expression ; and the sense of 
the word there being altogether different, the change was, we think, judicious. — 

*^ That many have, and others must sit there. 

That is, many have sat, &c. This sort of excuse is in gre^t vogue with 
English rustics, when in any kind of disgrace. A Warwickshire newspaper, a few 
years ago, contained the following notice of the stocks at Stratford-on-Avon, — 
" The inhabitants of this quiet little town have been much amused by the revival 
of this old mode of punishment. One day last week three fellows were placed in 
the stocks for being drunk and disorderly on the previous Sunday, and for refusing 
to pay the fine. About a fortnight ago a fellow was doing penance for a similar 
offence, and was asked by a passer by how he liked it. His reply was — I beant 
the first mon as ever were in the stocks, so I don't care a fardin about it." 



*^ Thus plai/ It in one person. 
Alluding, perhaps, to the necessities of our early theatres. The title-pages of 
some of our Moralities show that three or four characters were frequently repre- 
sented by one person. Thus the first quarto 1597. All the subsequent old copies 
h ave — prison . — Mai one. 

^ Til Jar their watches on Kuto mine eye. 
There is a confusion of singulars and plurals in the original text of this speech, 
which is a licence of frequent occurrence in works of the Shakespearian period. 
His thoughts are compared to minutes, which the sighs or seconds tick on in 
])rogress along the circular marked rim of the dial, which is compared to his eye, 
the index being his finger, which removes the tears as it sweeps round the dial. 
Tlie term tcatcli in this line first signifies a short interval of time, and secondly, the 
face of the clock. The outward watch is the outside of the watch or dial, as the 
outward man, in common parlance, is the exterior of the man. " Their watches 
on unto," early quartos, with the exception of their being altered to there in ed. 
1615. In ed. 1633, on unto is altered to to. The annexed engraving represents 
one of the earhest table-clocks preserved in this country. The following are the 
notes of the commentators ; — 

Dr. Johnson proposed to read, — " My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs 
they jar — Their watches on ; mine eyes the outward watch, — Whereto," &c. The 
02itirard watch, as I am informed, but on doubtful information, was the moveable 
figure of a man habited like a watchman, with a pole and lantern in his hand. 
The figure had the word watch written on its forehead; and was placed above 
tlie dial-plate. Such a figure appears to have been alluded to in Ben Jonson's 
Every Man out of his Humour : " — he looks like one of these motions in a great 
antique clock," &c. A motion anciently signified a puppet. Again, in his 
Sejanus : — " Observe him, as his ^t•atch observes his ctoch^ Again, in Church- 
yard's Charitie, 1595 : — " The clocke will strike in haste, I heare the watch — That 
sounds the bell." The same thought also occurs in Greene's Perimedes, 1588 : — 
"Disquiet thoughts the minuts of her icatchr To jar is, I believe, to make that 

noise which is called tichinr/. So, in the Winter's Tale : " I love thee not a 

jar o' the clock behind," &c. Again, in the Spanish Tragedy " the 

minutes y^mwy, the clock striking." — Steevens. 



There appears to be no reason for supposing with Dr. Johnson, that this 
passage is corrupt. It should be recollected that there are three ways in which a 
clock notices the progress of time ; by the libration of the pendulum, the index on 
the dial, and the striking of the hour. To these, the King, in his comparison, 
severally alludes ; his sighs corresponding to the jarring of the pendulum, which at 
the same time that it watches or numbers the seconds, marks also their progress 
in minutes on the dial or outward-watch, to which the King compares his eyes ; 
and their want of figures is supplied by a succession of tears, or, to use an 
expression of Milton, minute drops : his finger, by as regularly wiping these away, 
performs the office of the diaPs point: his clamorous groans are the sounds 
that tell the hour. In King Henry IV. Part ii, tears are used in a similar 
manner : — 

But Harry lives that shall convert those tears 
By number into hottrs of happiness. — Henley. 

This fanciful passage has been found very difficult. The meaning appears to 
be as follows : " Time has now converted me into a clock for numbering the lapse 

of his hours. My 
thoughts are minutes ; 
and the sighs they 
produce jar on their 
watche^^ i.e. tich their 
sounds to my eyes, 
which are the oiiticard 
VMtch or dial whereto 
my finger is ever point- 
ing." The metaphor 
is forced and bad, but 
I do not think the 
passage is corrupt. — 

It is somewhat diffi- 
cult to follow this read- 
ing. Richard says Time 
has made him a num- 
bering clock. A clock 
and a watch were 
formerly the same in- 
struments ; a clock 
so called because it 
clicketh — a watch so 
called because it marks the watches, the ancient divisions of the day. Com- 
paring, then, himself to such an instrument, he says, his thoughts jar — that is, 
tick their watches on (unto) his eyes, which are the outward part of the instru- 
ment — the dial-plate on which the hours are numbered, — whereto his finger, 
the dial's point, is pointing. — Knight. 

Now, sir, the sound. 
" Now, s^V," is merely one of those improprieties in soliloquy, of which not a 
few examples might be collected from our early dramatists : so in Cliapman's 
Humorous Dayes Myrth, 1599, while Elorila is alone on the stage, her husband 
enters behind, unseen by her, and commences a soliloquy thus: "Yea, mary, s/r, 
now I must looke about : now if her desolate (dissolute) proover come againc, shal 
.1 admit him to make farther triall?" and in Middleton's A Mad World, my 



]\Iasters, Sir Bounteous, who is the only person on the stage, observes, "An 

old man's venery is very chargeable, my 
masters ; there's much cookery belongs to't." 
To these instances the following may be 
added : in Eletcher's Woman's Prize, or the 
Tamer Tamed, Petruchio says, while solus, 
— " 'Tis hard deahng, — Very hard dealing, 
gentlemen, strange dealing !" and in his Wild- 
Goose Chase, Pinac says, wJiile alone, — " You 
talk of travels; here's a curious country!" — 

" Which is the bell." — The bells of ancient 
clocks were conspicuous portions of them, as 
in the three examples here given, taken from 
ilkiminated manuscripts of the fifteenth cen- 
tury. See the two engravings on the previous 
page, and the annexed specimen, the last 
taken from a manuscript in the Bodleian 
Library, dated 1450. The second one repre- 
sents Temperance standing on a windmill, with a portable clock on her head. 

*® Eis JacJc-d'-the-cloch. 

Alluding to an automaton formerly attached to some clocks, that struck the 
hours. Two of these were not many years ago remaining in St. Dunstan's church 
in Eleet Street, and are amongst my own earliest remembrances of London 
about 1830. They are now preserved at St. Dunstan's in the Begent's Park, the 
residence of Henry Hucks Gibbs, Esq., to whose liberality I am indebted for the 
annexed engraving of them. They are alluded to in the Walk through London 
and Westminster, 1690, — 

Two savages arm'd with battoons, — On bells, make here alternate sounds, 
T' express the power of art sublime, — And shew us how we waste our time, 
Daily, by this we teach our eyes, — Or ears, the proper time to rise ; 
And as much stands us too in stead : — Instruct us when to go to bed. 

These automatons were called 
Jachs of the clock-house, because 
Jach in our author's time was a 
common appellation for a mean, 
contemptible fellow, employed by 
others in servile offices. Bichard 
resembles Buckingham to one of 
those automatons, and bids him 
not suspend the stroke on the 
clock-bell, but strike, that the 
hour may be past, and himself be 
at liberty to pursue his medita- 
tions. — HawMns. 

So, in the Fleire, a comedy, 
1610: — "their tongues are, lilie 
a Jach o' the clock, still in labour." 
Again, in the Puritan, — "Why, 
do you take us to be jachs o' 
Again, in the Coxcomb, by Beaumont and Eletcher: 

the cloch house?" 



" Is this your Jack o' the c/or/iJ-house ? — Will you strike, sir?" Again, in 

a pamphlet by Decker, called the Guls Hornbook, 1609 : " — but howsoever, if 
Powles Jacks be once up with their elbowes, and quarrelling to strike eleven, as 
soon as ever the clock has parted them, and ended the fray with his hammer, let 
not the duke's gallery conteyne you any longer." By the above it appears that 

jacks at St. Paul's struck only the quarters. — Steevens. 

In Lantern and Candle-light, or the Bellman's Second Night-walk, by Decker, 
is a passage " of a new and cunning drawing of money from gentlemen," which 
may tend to a somewhat different explanation of the word — strike .- " There is 
another fraternitie of wandring pilgrims, who merrily call themselves Jackes of the 
clock-house. The jacke of a clock hoiise goes upon screws, and his office is to do 
nothing but strike : so does this noise (for they walke up and down like fidlers) 
travaile with motions, and whatever their motions get them, is called strikim/." 
" He scrapes you just such a leg, in answering you, as Jack o' th' clock-hoase agoing 
about to strike," Elecknoe's J^nigmat. Char. p. 76. Cotgrave, in the article 
Eretillon, introduces it as a general term for a diminutive or paltry fellow: — "A 
little nimble dwarfe or hop-on-my-thumbe ; 2, jacke of the clock-house; a little 
busie-body, medler, jack-stickler ; one that has an oare in every man's boat, or his 
hand in every man's dish." 

Is a strange hrooch. 

That is, is as strange and uncommon as a hroocli which is now no longer 
worn. So, in All's Well that Ends Well : "Virginity, like an old courtier, wears 
her cap out of fashion, richly suited, but unsuitable; just like the hrooch and the 
toothpick, which wear not now" Mason asserted that a hrooch meant a jewel in 
general; but there is no foundation for this 
assertion. A hrooch, being usually ornamented 
with some gem, was considered and denominated 
a jewel ; but no jewel could be denominated a 
hrooch, unless it were appended to that particular 
pin from which the name is derived. — Malone. 
The annexed engraving represents a "strange 
brooch " of the fifteenth century. 

That the word hrooch was applied to a 
particular kind of ornament is certain; but it 
also signifies a jewel in general ; and it appears 
to me that Bichard means to say that love to 
him was a strange jewel, a rich jewel out of 
place, in an all-hating world, without any reference to the fashion of wearing 
brooches. — Mason. 

There is, I believe, no allusion here to brooches being " out of fashion." The 
word " sign" in the preceding line probably suggested the expression " a strange 
hrooch "it is a sign of love; and love to Bichard is, amid so much hatred, a 
strange feeling for any one to display, — as he would a brooch or ornament." I 
may add that " brooch" (about the precise meaning of which Malone squabbled 
with Mason) was not unfrequently used metaphorically for, ornament. " These 
sonnes of Mars, who in their times were the glorious hrooches of our nation, and 
admirable terrour to our enemies," World Bunnes on AVheeles, — Taylor's AVorkes, 
p. 237, ed. 1630.— Dyc^. 

Brooch is altered to cjift in an annotated copy of the second folio. 

In this all-hating icorld. 
The sense is, And love to Bichard reduced to the lowest ebb of ill fortune is a 
strange ornament indeed to make its appearance in a world, made up of nothing 
IX. 28 



but malevolence and malice. AVavbiirton instructs us to Yc:ii\, fall-hatiiig world, 
which he interprets, "a world that shuns and avoids tliose that arc fallen." But 
this is a sense which the word, though coined for that very purpose, will not bear. 
If it means any thing-, it means, a world which hath an aversion to falling, or to a 
change of fortune for the worse. — lleatli. 

Johnson supposes, that by an all-hating world, Kichard means a world in 
whicli he Avas imiversally hated ; but I think he rather means a world in which the 
spirit of hatred was prevalent. — 3Iason. 

Bat that sad dog. 

It should be remembered that the word sad was, in the time of our author, 
used for grave. The expression will then be the same as if he had said, that 
grave, thai gloomy villain. So, in liolinshed, p. 730 : " With that, the recorder 
called Eitzwilliam, a sad man, and an honest," &c. — Sleevens. 

The phrase, " sad dog," is intended to be used in contempt, but if any 
association of the comic or ridiculous kind hath accrued to it from the use made 
of it by later comedians, that surely can be no reason why it may not have been 
more seriously employed by Shakespeare. — Ifealh. 

My sometimes royal master s face. 
Sometimes was used iov formerly, as well as sometime, whicli tlie . modern 
editors have substituted. So, in Speed's History of Great Britaine, 1611 : — " A 
catalogue of the religious houses, &c. sometimes in England and Wales." — 

Rode he on Barhary ? 

This story of Roan Barbary might have been of Shakespeare's own invention. 
Eroissart, however, relates a yet more silly tale concerning a favourite greyhound 
of King Richard's, " who was wont to lepe upon the King, but left the King and 
came to the erle of Derby duke of Lancastre, and made to hym the same frendly 
countinaunce and chere as he was wonte to do to the King," &c. — Sleevens. 

By jauncing Bolinghrolce. 

The verh Jonnce, to bounce, thump, and jolt, as rough riders are wont to do, is 
still in use in the provinces. *' Jancer un cheval, to stirre a horse in the stable 
till hee sweat withall, or, as our, to jaunt," Cotgrave. In some of the early 
editions of Romeo and Juliet, jaunt is written jaimce, so that the two words were 
formerly synonymous. 

Enter Exton, and Servants, armed. 

Upon this speech a certaine Knight called Sir Pierce of Extone, presently 
parted from the Court, accompanyed with eight tall men, and came to Pomfrete, 
and there commaunded that the esquire who was accustomed to sewe, and take 
the assay before King Richard, should no more use that manner of service : and 
let him (quoth he) now eate wel, for he shall not eate long. King Richard sate 
downe to dinner, and was served without courtesie or assaye, whereat he merveyled, 
and demaunded of the esquire, why he did not his duty ? the esquire answered, 
that he was otherwise commaunded by Sir Pierce of Extone, who was latelye 
come from King Henry. The King being somewhat mooved at his acte and 
answere, tooke the carving-knife in his hand, and strucke the esquire therewith 
lightly on the head, saying, the devill take Henrie of Lancaster and thee together: 
with that Sir Pierce entred the chamber, with eight men in barneys, every one 
having a byll in his hand ; whereupon King Richard, perceiving their drift and 
his owne daunger, put the table from him, and stepping stoutly to the formost 

A'ohcfi! cr Hir/ia/r^ fhr Seavid .and oiAer /'/ms, rrvm t/i€' original Kn^rces otv tJve^ Re^i^l^^ 

of Ih^ Sfa^irncrs Compamf 

fiffo6.) 1:2. 

..^^i^p^ /^C^<^^^^ c^^^^^ 

ai teaford Sa«t. C<««m Qw*ea. 

f<?/eu»p 2W. 



man, wrested the bill out of his hand, wherewith (although unarmed and alone) he 
manfully defended himselfe a good space, and slew foure of his assaylants. Sir 
Pierce lept to the chaire where King Richard was wont to sit, whilest the 
rest chased him about the chamber. At the last being forced towards the place 
where Sir Pierce was, he with a stroake of his pollax felled him to the ground, 
and forthwith he was miserable rid out of his miserable life. It is saide that at 
the pointe of his death, liee_ gathered some spirit, and with a fainte and feeble 
voice, groaned foorth these wordes, My great grandfather, King Edward the 
second, was in this manner deposed, imprisoned and murthered ; by which raeanes 
my grandfather King Edward the third obteyned possession of the crowne ; and 
now is the punishment of that injurie powred upon his next successour. AVell this 
is right for mee to suffer, but not for you to doe ; your King for a time- may joye 
at my death, and enjoy his desire ; but let him qualifie his pleasures with expecta- 
tion of the like justice ; for God who measuretli all our actions by the. malice of 
our mindes, will not suffer this violence unrevenged. Whether these words 
proceeded from a distempered desire, or from the judgement of his foresight, they 
were not altogether idle and vaine. For Sir Pierce expecting great favor and 
rewards for his ungracious service, was frustrated of both, and not onely missed 
that countenance for which he hoped, but lost that which before he had, so odious 
are vices even where they are profitable. — HayiDard's Life of Henrie the Fourth, 

Here to die. 

Creton, after relating the failure of the attempt to restore Pichard to the 
throne by the conspiracy of January, 1400, observes, — " Soon after they made 
good King Pichard acquainted with the whole truth of this melancholy business, 
which was piteous for him to hear ; and it was no great wonder (that it should be 
so). Then he wept and said, " Make ready, death, and assault me ; no one can 
aid me more, since I have lost my friends. Gracious Lord, who wast crucified, 
deign to have mercy on me, for I can live thus no longer." Then was the 
king so vexed at heart by this evil news, that he neither ate nor drank from that 
hour : and thus, as they say, it came to pass that he died. But, indeed, I do not 
believe it ; for some declare for certain that he is still alive and well, shut up in their 
prison ; — it is a great error in them ; — although they caused a dead man to be 
openly carried through the city of London in such pomp and ceremony as 
becometh a deceased king, saying that it was the body of the deceased King 
Pichard. Duke Henry there made a shew of mourning, holding the pall after 
him, followed by all those of his blood in fair array, without regarding him, or the 
evils that they had done unto him. This will be a great burden to them before God at 
the latter day, when he will sentence the wicked to the everlasting flame of hell. 
Thus, as you shall hear, did they carry the dead body to Saint Paul's in Loudon, 
honourably and as of right appertaineth to a, king. Put I certainly do not believe 
that it was the old king ; but I think it was Maudelain, his chaplain, who in face, 
size, height, and make, so exactly resembled him, that every one firmly thought it 
was good King Pichard. And if it were he, morn and night I heairtily make my 
prayer to the merciful and holy God, that he will take his soul to heaven, for, in 
my opinion, he hated all manner of blame, and every vice. Never did I see any- 
thing in him save catholic faith and justice." 

This account is curious, but the notion of the body being that of Maudelain is 
extremely improbable. Creton's narrative is supported by Gower, in his Latin 
poem on the deposition of Pichard the Second in the Cotton MSS., — 

Semper enim plorat; semper de sorte laborat 
Qua cadit ; et tales meminit periisse sodales. 



Solain dejwscit mortem, iiec vivere possit 
Amplius est ; et ita moriens sua pompa sopita. 

According to a curious MS. in the Imperial Library at Paris, 10312, when he 
heard of the execution of his friends, lie was so much afflicted that he took an 
oath that he would never more taste any food ; and so he remained four days 
without eating; on which Elenry sent certain prelates to comfort him, and 
persuade him to eat. He confessed himself to one of them, who enjoined him to 
take food ; but when he attempted to swallow, he was unable to do it, and so he 

Another account relates that he was starved by his keepers. " A cibo et potu 
per quatuor aut quinque dies restrictus famis inedia exspiravit," Cronicon. Harl. 
MSS. 4323, p. 68. In the Chronicle of Godstow, subjoined by Hearne to his 
edition of Roper's Life of More, the words are " tandem a cibo et potu per 
quatuor vel quinque dies restrictus famis inedia expiravit." In the letter of 
defiance which the Percys sent to King Henry in the field, immediately before 
the battle of Shrewsbury, Henry is charged with having caused Eichard to perish 
from hunger, thirst, and cold, after fifteen days and nights of sufferings unheard 
of among Christians. They expressly charge him with having " carried his 
sovereign lord traiterously within the castell of Pomfret, without his consent 
or the judgement of the lordes of the realm, — by the space of fiftene daies and so 
many nightes, (which is horrible among christian people to be heard,) with hunger, 
thirst, and cold, to perishe." The more elaborate and detailed articles put forth 
against Henry, at a subsequent period, by Archbishop Scroop, repeat the charge, 
in different words, but to the same effect. 

Compare also the 1480 edition of Caxton's Chronicle, — " And than anon dyed 
King Richard in the Castle of Pountfret in the North Contre. In ther he was 
enfamyned unto the dethe by his kepar, for he was kept ther four or five dayes 
from mete or drynke. x\nd so he made his ende in this worlde, yet moche peple 
in Englond, and in other landes, sayd that he was alive many yere after his death ; 
but whether he were alive or dede forth they held their fals oppynyons and byleve 
that men hadden in moche which come to grete meschyef and foule dethe." Sir 
John Eortescue (as quoted by Stow, from a work which Malone supposes to be 
somewhere existing in MS.) says, that " King Richard was imprisoned in Pomfret 
Castle, where xv. days and nights they vexed him with continuall hunger, tliirst, 
and cold, and finally bereft him of his life with such akinde of death as was never 
before that time knowne in England." This passage, however, seems to be only 
a literal translation from Archbishop Scroop's manifesto. 

The account of Richard's death, adopted by Shakespeare from Holinshed, is 
found in an early MS. at Paris, in Caxton's additions to Hygden, in Eabyan, Hall, 
Hayward, and others. Holinshed erroneously cites Walsingham for this version 
of the story, but that chronicler attributes the King's death to grief and voluntary 
abstinence. He relates that when Richard, in his confinement at Pontefract 
Castle, heard of the disasters which had frustrated the attempts of his friends to 
restore liim, he voluntarily starved himself, as it was reported, and expired on 
Saint Valentine's day. His body was removed to the Tower, and publicly shewn ; 
after which, the King and the citizens of London celebrated his Requiem in St. 
Paul's Cathedral. The funeral took place at Langley, under the direction of the 
Bishop of Chester and the Abbots of St. Alban's and Walsingham ; but the 
customary hospitahties to those who assisted in the ceremony appear to have been 
omitted ; for Walsingham says that, when their labour was ended, there was 
nobody who would invite them to dinner. This account, in its material points, 
is confirmed by three writers of those times, namely, by Thomas Otterbourne, by 



the Monk of Evesham who wrote the Life of Richard which Hearne has edited, 
and by the continuator of the Clironicle of Croyland. The latter author asserts 
that the King refused food for five days and nights. According to Eabyan, 
Richard was murdered by eight armed men, " four of whom he slew with his own 
hand." In the year 1634, a pillar was still shown in the room which was 
supposed to have been the prison of Hichard, in Pomfret Castle, which was 
hacked with the blows of the murderers, as the king fled round it from them. 

Some years ago, when the tomb of Richard in Westminster Abbey was acci- 
dentally laid open, and the skull having been examined, "there did not appear 
upon it," to use the language of an eye-witness, " any such marks of a blow or 
wound upon it as could at all warrant the commonly-received history of this 
wretched King's unhappy end. A small cleft, that was visible on one side, 
appeared, on close inspection, to be merely the opening of a suture from length of 
time and decay, and was, besides, in such a part of the head, that it must have 
been visible when the visage was exposed, had it been the consequence of a wound 
given by a battle-axe, it being at the top of what the anatomists call the os 
femporis." The corpse had been publicly exposed soon after the death. Otter- 
bourne, who was living at the time, says that that part of it was uncovered by 
which it might be known ; that is to say, the face from the lower part of the fore- 
head to the throat. Eroissart says that more than twenty thousand persons came 
to see the King, who lay in the litter, his head on a black cushion, and his face 
uncovered. Hardyng the chronicler was one of these spectators, — 

Sone after so the Kyng Richerde that dede 
And brought to Poules with grete solempnyte. 
Men sayde he was forhungred, and lapte in lede. 
Rot that his masse was done and dyrige, 
In herse Rial, his corse lay there I se. 

Notwithstanding this exposure, the story afterwards prevailed, and is related by 
Hector Boece, that Richard escaped to Scotland, where he lived a religious life, 
and was buried at Stirling. The probability is that the real history of Richard's 
death will never be unravelled, Eroissart, who was ever eager in the pursuit of 
information, candidly confesses that, at the time when he wrote his Chronicle, he 
" could not learn the particulars of Richard's death, nor how it happened." In 
the preparation of this note, use has been made of Webb's researches on the 

" Our town of Cicester in Gloster shire. 

Circester or Cirencester, generally pronounced Cicester, and hence corrupted 
by Hayward into Chichester. " Erom Windsor they withdrew to Cirencester, a 
town hard by, where they had a very great quantity of their men at arms, all most 
desirous to restore to possession King Richard, who, so long as he lived, ought in 
reason to be king. They caused their people to be put into good order for service. 
They had many archers with them. They said that good King Richard had left 
his prison, and was there with them. And to make this the more credible, they 
had brought a chaplain, who so exactly resembled good King Richard in face and 
person, in form and in speech, that every one who saw him certified and declared 
that he was the old king. He was called Maudelain, Many a time have I seen 
him in Ireland riding through the country with King Richard his master. I 
have not for a long time seen a fairer priest." — Creton. 

At the last they came to Chichester, and there the Lordes tooke their 
lodgings, the Duke of Surrey and the Earle of Salisburie in one inne ; the Duke 
of Exceter and the Earle of Gloucester in another ; and all the hoast encamped 


in the fields. But the LaylifTe of the towne, suspecting- all this countenance to be 
but the vaine flashe of a false fire, did in the night with about fourescore archers, 
beset and set upon the house where the Duke of Surrey and the Earle of 
Salisburie laye ; who were men but of weakc resistance by nature, but being put 
upon necessitie, shewed great manhood and persistance in defending themselves 
against the townsmen. Tiie Duke of Exceter and the Earle of Gloucester being 
in another inne, were not able by force to rescue their associates ; whereupon a 
certaine priest of their companye set divers houses in the towne on fire, supposing 
thereby to divert the townsmen from their assault, to the saving of their houses 
and of their goods; but this fire greatly inflamed their furie, and made them more 
obstinate in their attempt, crying out that they would never labour to rescue their 
losses, but to revenge them ; and that with the bloud of the Lords, whose flames 
should be quenched. Then there arose confused clamours, and noyses, all the 
towne being in an uproare and in amies, shooting fiercelie and running upon the 
lords with a rashe and desperate rage ; not caring to loose many, wherof they had 
many to spare. — ILuj ward's Life of Ilcnrie the Fourth, 1599. 

'"^ I have to London sent. 

Then they forgat not in this reckoning the Earl of Salisbury. These three 
they foully and wrongfully put to death ; they afterwards brought their heads to 
London, where great rejoicings were made for it. There they set them aloft upon 
the bridge, fixed upon lances, at such a height that they might be well seen. — 

The heads of Salishury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent. 

So the folio. The quarto reads — of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent. It 
appears from the histories of this reign that the reading of the folio is right. — 

Thus the Duke of Surrey, and the Earle of Salisbury, and the lords, and 
gentlemen which were in their company, were left to defend themselves against 
the townesmen as they could ; who manfullye maintained the fight with great 
bloudshed of their enemies, from midnight untill three of the clocke the next day 
in the afternoone ; at the last, being inferiour both in number and fortune, the 
Duke and the Earle were wounded to death and taken, and the same evening 
theyr heades were striken off and sent to London : there were also taken Sir 
Bennet Shelley, Sir Barnard Brokas, Sir Thomas Blunt, and 28. other lordes 
knights and gentlemen, who were sent to Oxford, where the King then lay, and 
there were put to execution. — Hay ward's Life of Henrie the Fourth, 1599. 

Hath yielded up his hody to the grave. 

This Abbot of Westminster was William de Colchester. The relation here 
given of his death, after Holin shed's Chronicle, is untrue, as he survived the King 
many years ; and though called " the grand conspirator," it is very doubtful 
whether he had any concern in the conspiracy; at least nothing was proved 
against him. — Bitson. 

Carlisle, this is your doom. 

This prelate was committed to the Tower, but on the intercession of his friends, 
obtained leave to change his prison for Westminster Abbey. In order to deprive 
him of his see, the Pope, at the King's instance, translated him to a bishoprick in 
partibus infidelimn ; and the only preferment he could ever after obtain, was a 
rectory in Gloucestershire. He died in 1409. — Bitson. 

^° Hif/h sparJcs of honour in thee have L seen. 
Thus, in the old play of the History of King Leir, &c, : — " I see such sparks 



of honour hi your facer Hence, perhaps, Milton, in his Arcades, v. 26: — "I 
see bright honour sparkle in your eyes." — Steevem. 

61 ^fom your owit mouth, my lord, did I this deed. 
A doubt has existed whether this event was hastened by Henry's orders, or 
indirect concurrence. He denied it. In his answer to the accusation brought 
against him in the challenge of the Duke of Orleans, we have his vindication in 
his own words : — " Whereas in your said letter mention is made of the decease of 
our very dear lord and cousin, whom God pardon ! And when you say, ' God 
knoweth by whom,' we know not for what reason or purpose you say it; but if 
you mean, or dare to say that it happened by us, or by our will or consent, it is a 
falsehood, and will be as often as you say it ; and to this we are and will be ready, 
with the help of God, to defend ourselves, body for body, if you are willing or 
dare to prove it." Thus to the personal imputation that had been cast upon him, 
and seems to have been made public, did Henry think proper to stand upon his 
defence. His replication, it must be allowed, is sufficiently firm ; and might then 
have been thought satisfactory, had the parties proceeded to the trial that it 
demanded. But it were to be wished, in respect to genuine proof, that it were as 
admissible, so far as we are now concerned. It is as evasive as it is bold. It 
does not go to shew that the manner of Eichard's death was natural, and the 
circumstances of it free from all suspicion. Had it been so, he might as firmly 
and briefly have stated it, without condescending to enter into particulars with his 
adversary. This were not too much to have expected from him under so heavy a 
charge ; but we look for it in vain. If by what he advanced he meant to clear 
himself, his method was very incomplete ; his affected ignorance of the cause of 
the accusation would be as little regarded then as it may be now ; and the only 
argument he propounded, trial by battle, the great existing test of truth, in wiiich 
the guilty no less than the innocent, as a last resource, had often sought refuge, 
was a proof, the practical assertion of which he afterwards took especial care to 
avoid. In any case it establishes nothing with posterity. — TFebb. 

With Cain go icander through the shade of night. 

In reference to the probability of the statement made respecting the banish- 
ment of E-ichard's murderers, the following curious testimony is worth giving. It 
rests upon the authority of an ancient French Chronicle quoted by Louvet in his 
Histoire d'Aquitaine, 1659, — "In the year 1399, King Richard was made 
prisoner by his cousin Henry Earl of Derby, son of the Duke of Lancaster, who 
took possession of his estate, and put him cruelly to death. Whereupon they of 
Bordeaux, where he was born, and whence he took his name ; they of Dax and of 
Bayonne, warmly attached to his service, were upon the point of turning to 
France. Louis de Sancerre, constable of France, urged them thereunto ; but the 
seneschal of Bordeaux hearing their complaints, and having written of it to 
Henry, he sent thither in haste Thomas Percy, who had governed them aforetime, 
to prevent them ; which he did. The Chronicle of Lurbe says that the Bourdelois 
so much lamented the death of King Bichard, that proceeding with severity 
against those who were suspected of his death, they tore one of thenj to pieces for 
it with the most cruel torments that they could devise, and set up his arm on a 
pike in front of the castle of Lombriere. Candour obliges me to note that this 
might fairly be coupled with the story of the banishment of Sir Piers Exton ; who, 
if he did not assault him in the way that is reported and has been refuted, might 
by the other method, on which most stress has been laid, be equally accessary to 
his death. It shews at least the opinion that was prevalent among Richard's own 
countrymen and warmest admirers, and that some persons who were suspected of 
being concerned in his murder actually took refuge in France. — JFchh. 

^t gust fart 




The historical portion of the First Part of Henry the Fourth 
is chiefly founded upon the narrative, referring to the same 
period, which is given in Hohnshed's Chronicle, 1587 ; but a 
few very slender hints for the comic scenes of the play may be 
traced in an older drama, of little merit, entered on the registers 
of the Stationers' Company on May 14th, 1594, to Thomas 
Creede, as " a booke entituled the Famous Victories of Henrye 
the Fyft, conteyninge the honorable battell of Agincourt." 
This production was certainly in existence before 1588, the year 
of Tarlton's death, the part of the Clown, one of the characters 
in it, having been undertaken by that celebrated actor, as 
appears from a curious anecdote related in Tarlton's Jests, which 
commences as follows, — " At the Bull at Bishopsgate was a play 
of Henry the Fifth, wherein the judge was to take a box on the 
ear ; and because he was absent that should take the blow, 
Tarlton himself, ever forward to please, took upon him to play 
the same judge, besides his own part of the clown ; and Knell, 
then playing Henry the Fifth, hit Tarlton a sound box indeed, 
which made the people laugh." The same drama is supposed 
to be alluded to by Nash, in his Pierce Penilesse his Supplication 
to the Divell, 1592, wherein he exclaims, — " What a glorious 
thing it is to have Henry the Fifth represented on the stage, 
leading the French King prisoner, and forcing him and tlie 
Dolphin to sweare fealtie." No printed edition of this play, how- 
ever, is now known before one which appeared in the year 1598, 
the copyright then, as in 1594, belonging to Thomas Creede. 




It was republished in 1617, under the title of, "The Famous 
Victories of Henry the Fifth, containing the Honourable Battell 
of Agincourt, as it was acted by the Kinges Maiesties Seruants," 
the last assertion being probably untrue, and inserted with the 
view of deceiving the public by pretending that it was acted by 
Shakespeare's company, and hence leading them to believe that 
it was the production of the great dramatist. The imprint of 
this edition varies considerably in different copies. Some are 
stated to be, " Imprinted by Barnard Alsop, and are to be sold 
by Tymothie Barlow at his shop in Panics Churchyard at the 
Signe of the Bull-head, 1617," Avhile others are merely said to 
be, " Imprinted by Barnard Alsop dwelling in Gunter-place in 
Barbican, 1617;" and copies with either of these imprints are 
occasionally found undated. Upon this play Shakespeare con- 
structed some of the incidents in the two parts of Henry the 
Fourth and Henry the Fifth, and, to a small extent, this 
circumstance has operated disadvantageously, the poet's recollec- 
tion of the older drama having occasionally interfered w ith the 
free exercise of his own invention. Thus the Prince in the first 
instance appears as a recognised member of Falstaff's gang, as 
in the corresponding scene of the Famous Victories, but imme- 
diately afterwards he disclaims the proposal of a robbery, evidently 
implying that it was a novelty so far as he was concerned. The 
scene of the old play opens with Prince Henry's robberies ; Sir 
John Oldcastle is one of his company; he is called Jocky Oldcastle, 
but has few speeches assigned to him, and cannot be considered, 
in any strict sense, the prototype of Falstaff ; Ned and Gadshill 
are two other comrades, and their place of rendezvous is in East- 
cheap. Derick, the clown, the part selected by Tarlton, is 
perhaps the most prominent character in this drama, the whole 
of wdiich, however, is of a very inferior cast. The following 
extract from the commencement will suffice to show the slig-ht 
nature of Shakespeare's obligations to this play in the composition 
of his First Part of Henry the Fourth, — 

Unter the young Prince, Ned, and Tom. 

Henry the Fifth. — Come away, Ned and Tom. 
Both. Here, my lord. 

Henry 5. Come away, my lads. Tell me, sirs, how much gold have you got? 
Ned. Eaith, my lord, I have got five hundred pound. 
Henry 5. But tell me, Tom, how much hast thou got ? 
Tom. Eaith, my lord, some foure hundred pound. 




Henry 5. Foure hundred pounds ! bravely spoken, lads. Eut tell me, sirs, 
thinke you not that it was a vaillainous part of me to rob ray fathers receyvers ? 
Ned. Why, no, my lord, it was but a tricke of youth. 

Henry 5. Faith, Ned, thou sayest true. Eut tell me, sirs, where abouts are 
we ? 

Tom. My lord, we are now about a mile olf London. 

Henry 5. But sirs, I marvell that Sir John Oldcastle comes not away: sounds, 
see where he comes. [^Enters Jockey.] How now, Jockey, what newes with 
thee ? 

Joclcey. Faith, my lord, such newes as passeth, for the towne of Detfort is 
risen with hue and crie after your man, which parted from us the last night, and 
has set upon, and hath robd a poore carrier. 

Henry 5. Sownes, the villaine that was wont to spie out our booties. 

Jochey. I, ray lord, even the very sarae. 

Henry 5, Now, base-minded rascall to rob a poore carrier. Well, it skils not, 
ile save the base villaines life : I, I may : but, tell me, Jockey, whereabout be the 

Jockey. Faith, ray lord, they are hard by, but the best is, we are a horse backe, 
and they be a foote, so we may escape them. 

Henry 5. Well, if the villaines come, let mee alone with them. Eut tell rae, 
Jockey, how much gots thou from the knaves, for I am sure I got something, for 
one of the villaines so belamde me about the shoulders, as I shall feele it this 

Jockey. Faith, my lord, I have got a hundred pound. 

Henry 5. A hundred pound ! now, bravely spoken. Jockey : Eut come, sirs, lay 
all your money before me. Now, by heaven, here is a brave shew : but as I am 
true gentleman, I will have the halfe of this spent to night ; but, sirs, take up 
your bags. Here coraes the receyvers : let me alone. [Unfers two Receyvers. 

One. Alas, good fellow, what shall we doe ? I dare never go home to the court, 
for I shall be hangde. But here is the yong prince ; what shall we do ? 

Henry 5. How now, you villaines, what are you ? 

0?ie Beceyver. Speake you to him. 

Other. No I pray, speake you to him. 

Henry 5. Why, how now, you rascals, why speake you not? 

One. Forsooth we be ; pray speake you to him. 

Henry 5. Sowns, villaines, speake, or ile cut off your heads. 

Other. Forsooth, he can tell the tale better then I. 

One. Forsooth, we be your fathers receyvers. 

Henry 5. Are you my fathers receyvers. Then I hope yee have brought me 
some money. 

One. Money ; alasse, sir, wee be robd. 

Henry 5. Eobd ? how many were there of them ? 

One. Marry, sir, there were foure of them, and one of thera had Sir John 
Oldcastles bay hobbey, and your blacke nag. 

Henry 5. Gogs wounds, how like you this. Jockey? Blood, you villaines : ray 
father robd of his raoney abroad, and we in our stables. But tell me, how raany 
were there of thera. 

One Beceyver. If it please you, there M'ere foure of thera, and there was one 
about the bignesse of you : but I ara sure I so belarade him about the shoulders, 
that he will feele it this raoneth. 

Henry 5. Gogs wounds, you lambde them fairely, so that they have carryed 
away your money. But come, sirs, what shall we doe with the villaines ? 

Both Beceyrers. I beseech your grace be good to us. 




I pray you, my Lord, forgive them this once. 

llenrij 5. Well, stand up, and get you gone, and looke that you speake not a 
word of it, for if there be, sownes ile hang you and all your kin. [Exeunt 
?i'e('('//rers.] Now, sirs, how like you this ? AVas not this bravely done? Eor 
now the villaines dare not speake a word of it, I liave so feared them with words. 
Now, whether shall we go. 

ylll. Why, my lord, you know our old Hostesse at Feversham. 

Hennj 5. Our Hostesse at Feversham ; bloud, what shall we doe there ; we 
have a thousand pound about us. And we shall go to a petty Alehouse ! No, 
no: you know the old Taverne in Eastcheape, there is good wine; besides there 
is a pretty wench that can talke well, for I delight as much in their tongues, as 
any part about them. 

All. We are ready to wayte upon your grace. 

Henry 5. Gogs wounds, wait, we will go altogether ; we are all fellowes ; I 
tell you, sirs, and the King my father were dead, wee would be all Kings, there- 
fore, come away. 

Ned. Gogs wounds, bravely spoken, Harry. 

Enter John Cobler, Eobin Pewterer, Lawrence Costermonger. 
John Cobler. All is well here ; all is well, Masters. 

liobhi. How say you neighbour John Cobler ? I think it best that my neigh- 
bour Eobin Pewterer went to Pudding-lane end, and we will watch here at Billins- 
gate ward. How say you, neighbour Eobin, how like you this ? 

Boh'ni. Marry, well, neighbours : I care not much if I go to Pudding-lane end. 
But, neighbours, and you heare any adoe about me, make haste ; and if I heare any 
adoe about you, I will come to you. \_Exit Eobin. 

Laurence, Neighbor, what news heare you of the yong Prince ? 

John. Marry, neighbour, I heare say, he is a toward young Prince, for if he 
meet any by the high way, he will not let to talke with him ; I dare not call him 
theefe, but, sure, he is one of these taking fellowes. 

Lawrence. Indeed, neighbour, I heare say hee is as lively a young prince as 
ever was. 

John. I, and I heare say, if he use it long, his father will cut him off from the 
crowne : but, neighbour, say nothing of that. 
Lawrence. No, no, neighbour, I warrant you. 

John. Neighbour, me thinkes you begin to sleepe ; if you will, we will sit 
downe, for I thinke it is about midnight. 

Laicrence. Marry, content, neighbour ; let us sleepe. 

Enter Dericke roving. 

Bericlce. Who, who there, who there ? [Exit Dericke. Enter Eobin. 

Bohin. O neighbours, what meane you to sleepe, and such adoe in the streetes ? 
Amho. How, now, neighbour, whats the matter ? 

Enter Dericke againe. 

Bericlce. Who there, who there, who there ? 
Cohler. Why, what aylest thou ? here is no horses. 
Deriche. O alas ! man, I am rob'd ! Who there, who there ? 
llohin. Hold him, neighbour Cobler. 
Cobler. Why, I see thou art a plaine clowne. 




Deriche. Am I a clowne ? sownes, masters ! Do clownes goe in silke apparrel ? 
I am sure all we gentlemen clownes in Kent scant goe so well : Sounes, you 
know clownes very well. Heare you, are you Master Constable ? and you be, 
speake ; for I will not take it at his hands. 

John. Eaith, I am not Master Constable, but I am one of his bad officers, for 
he is not here. 

Bericke. Is not master Constable here ? Well, it is no matter, He have the 
law at his hands. 

John. Nay, I pray you do not take the law of us. 
Deride. You are one of his beastly officers. 
John. I am one of his bad officers. 
Deriche. Why, then I charge thee looke to him. 

CoUer. Nay, but heare yee, sir, you seeme to be an honest fellow, and we are 
poore men, and now tis night, and we would be loath to have anything adoo ; 
therefore, I pray thee put it up. 

Deriche. First, thou sayest true, I am an honest fellow, and a proper handsome 
fellow too ; and you seem to be poore men, therfore I care not greatly ; nay, I am 
quickly pacified. But, and you chance to spie the tlieefe, I pray you lay hold on 

Rohm. Yes, that we will, I warrant you. 

Deriche. 'Tis a wonderfull thing to see how glad the knave is, now I have 
forgiven him. 

John. Neighbours, doe yee looke about you. How now, who's there ? 

Enter the theefe. 

Theefe. Here is a good fellow. I pray you, which is the way to the olde 
taverne in Eastcheape ? 

Deriche. Whoope, hollo ! now, Gadshill, knowest thou mee ? 
Theefe. I know thee for an asse. 

Deriche. And I know thee for a taking fellow, upon Gads-hill in Kent. A 
bots light upon you ! 

Theefe. The worsen villaine would be knockt. 

Deriche. Masters, -villaine, and ye be men, stand to him, and take his weapon 
from him ; let him not passe you. 

John. My friend, what make you abroad now? It is too late to walke now. 
Theefe. It is not too late for true men to walke. 
Lawrence. We know thee not to be a true man. 

Theefe. Why, what doe you meane to doe with me ? Sounes, I am one of the 
Kings liege people. 

Deriche. Heare you, sir, are you one of the kings liege people ? 

Theefe. I, marry, am I, sir ; what say you to it ? 

Deriche. Marry, sir, I say you are one of the King's filching people. 

Colter. Come, come, lets have him away. 

Theefe. Why, what have / done. 

Bohin. Thou hast robd a poore fellow, and taken away his goods from him. 
Theefe. I never saw him before. 

Deriche. Maisters, who comes here ? {Enter the Vintners hoy. 

Boy. How now, good man Cobler ? 

Colter. How now, Eobin, what makes thou abroade at this time of night ? 
Boy. Marrie, I have bene at the Counter, I can tell such newes as never you 
have hearde the like. 

Cottier. AVhat is that, Eobin? what is the matter? 



Boij. AVhy, this night, about two hourcs agoe, there came the young Prince, 
and three or foure more of his companions, and called for wine good store ; and 
then they sent for a noyse of musitians, and were very merry for the space of an 
houre ; then, whether their musicke liked them not, or whether they had drunke 
too much wine or no, I cannot tell, but our pots flew against the walls, and then 
they drewe their swords, and went into the street and fought, and some tooke one 
part, and some tooke another, but for the space of halfe an houre, there was such 
a bloody fray as passeth, and none could parte them untill such time as the Mayor 
and Sheriffe were sent for, and then at last, with much adoo, they tooke them, and 
so the young Prince was carryed to the Counter ; and then about one houre after, 
there came a messenger from the Court in all haste, from the King, for my Lorde 
Mayor and the Sheriffe, but for what cause I know not. 

Cohlcr. Here is newes, indeed, Bobert. 

Lain'ence. Marry, neighbour, this newes is strange indeede, I thinke it best, 
neighbour, to rid our hands of this fellow first. 
Theefe. What meane you to doo with me ? 

Cohler. Wee meane to carry you to the prison, and there to remaine till the 
sessions day. 

Thecfe. Then I pray you, let me go to the prison where my maister is. 
Cohler. Nay, thou must goe to the countrey prison, to Newgate ; therefore, 
come away. 

Theefe. I prethee, be good to me, honest fellow. 

DericJce. I, marry will I, ile be very charitable to thee, for I wil never leave 
thee, til I see thee on the gallows. 

Elder Henry the fourth, tcith the Earle o/" Exeter, and the Lord o/" Oxford. 

Oxford. And please your majestie, here is my Lord Mayor, and the Sheriffe of 
London, to speake with your majestie. 
K. Henry 4. Admit them to our presence. 

Enter the L. Mayor, and the Sheriffe. 

King. Now, my good Lord Mayor of London, the cause of my sending for 
you at this time, is to tell you of a matter which I have learned of my councell; 
herein I understand that you have committed my sonne to prison without our 
leave and license. What, although he be a rude youth, and likely to give occa- 
sion, yet you might have considered that he is a Prince, and my sonne, and not 
to be hailed to prison by every subject. 

Mayor. May it please your majestie to give us leave to tell our tale ? 

K. Henry 4. Or else God forbid, otherwise you might thinke me an unequal! 
judge, having more affection to my sonne, then to any rightfull judgement. 

Mayor. Then I do not doubt but we shal rather deserve commendations at your 
majesties hands, then any anger. 

K. Henry 4. Go to, say on. 

Mayor. Then if it please your majestie, this night, betwixt two and three of the 
clock in the morning, my Lord the yong Prince with a very disordred company, 
came to the old Taverne in Eastcheape, and whether it was that their musick 
liked them not, or whether they were overcom with wine, I know not, but they 
drue their swords, and into the streete they went, and some took my L. the yong 
Princes part, and som tooke the other, but betwixt them there was such a bloudie 
fray for the space of halfe an houre, that neyther watchmen, nor any other could 
stay them, till my brother the Sheriffe of London and I were sent for, and at the 
last, with much ado we stayed them, but it was long first, which was a great dis- 
quieting to all your loving subjects thereabouts ; and then, my good Lord, we knew 




not wliether your grace had sent them to trie us, whether we would do justice, or 
whether it were of their own voluntary will or not, we cannot tell ; and therefore 
in such a case we knew not what to doe, but for our owne safegard we sent him 
to ward, wher he wanteth nothing that is fit for his grace and your majesties 
son. And thus most humbly beseeching your majesty to thinke of our answere. 

Henry 4. Stand aside, untill we have further deliberated on your answere. 
{Exit Maior.] Ah, Harry, Harry, now thrice accursed Harry, that hath gotten a 
Sonne, which with griefe will end his fathers dayes. O my sonne, a Prince thou 
art, I a Prince in deed, and to deserve imprisonment ; and well they have done, 
and like faithfull subjects : discharge them and let them goe. 

L. Hxeter. I beseech your grace be good to my Lorde the young Prince. 

Henry 4. Nay, nay, tis no matter ; let him alone. 

L. Oxford. Perchance the Mayor and the Sheriffe have beene too precise in this 

Henry 4. No, they have done like faithfull subjects, I will goe my selfe to dis- 
charge them, and let them go. {Exeunt omnes. 

Enter lord Chiefe Justice, Clarhe of the Office, Jayler, John Cobler, Dericke, and 

the Theefe. 

Judge. Jayler, bring the prisoner to the barre. 

Deriche. Heare you, my Lorde, I pray you bring the barre to the prisoner. 

Judge. Hold thy hand up at the barre. 

Theefe. Here it is, my Lord. 

Judge. Clearke of the office, reade his inditement. 

Clearl-e. What is thy name ? 

Theefe. My name was knowne before I came lieere, and shall be when I am 
gone, I warrant you. 

Judge. I, I thinke so, but wee will know it better before thou goe. 

HericJce. Sownes, and you doe but send to the next jaile, we are sure to know 
his name ; for this is not the first prison he hath bene in, ile warrant you. 

Clearhe. What is thy name ? 

Theefe. What need you to aske, and have it in writing ? 

Clearhe. Is not thy name Cutbert Cutter ? 

Theefe. What the divell neede you aske, and know it so well ? 

Clearke. AVhy then, Cutbert Cutter, I indite thee by the name of Cutbert 
Cutter, for robbing a poore carrier the 20. day of May last past, in the fourteen 
yeare of the raigne of our Soveraigne Lord King Plenry the fourth, for setting 
upon a poore carrier upon Gads-hil in Kent, and having beaten and wounded the 
said carry er, and taken his goods from him. 

Bericke. Oh, maisters, stay there ; nay, lets never belie the man, for he hath 
not beaten and wounded me also, but he hath beaten and wounded my packe, 
and hath taken the great race of ginger, that bouncing Besse with the jolly 
buttocks should have had, that grieves me most. 

Judge. Well, what sayest thou ? art thou guilty, or not guyltie ? 

Theefe. Not guilty, my Lord. 

Judge. By whom wilt thou be tride ? 

Theefe. By my Lord the young Prince, or by myselfe, whether you will. 

Enter the young Prince, icith Ned and Tom. 

Henry 5. Come away, my lads ! gogs wounds, ye villaine, what make you here ? 
I must goe about my businesse myselfe, and you must stand loytering here. 
IX. . 30 




Thecfc. AVliy, my Lord, they have bound mec, and Mall not let me go. 
Ileiiri/ 5. Have they bound thee, villain ; why, how now, my Lord? 
Jiuhje. I am glad to see your Grace in good health. 

Henri/ 5. Why, my Lord, this is my man ; 'tis marvell you knew him not long 
before this, I tell you he is a man of his hands. 

Theefe. I, gogs wounds, that I am, try me who dare. 

Judge. Your Grace shall finde small credite by acknowledging him to be your 

Henry 5. AVhy, my Lord, what hath he done ? 
Judge. And it please your majesty, he hath robbed apoore carrier. 
DericTce. Heare you, sir; it was one Dericke, goodman Hoblings man of 

Henry 5. What, wast you, button-breech ? Of my word, my Lord, he did it 
but in jest. 

Judge. Heare you, sir, is it your mans quality to rob folkes in jest ? In faith 
he shall be liangde in earnest. 

Henry 5. Well, my Lord, what doe you meane to do with my man ? 

Judge. And please your Grace, the law must passe on him, according to justice ; 
then he must be executed. 

HericJce. Heare you, sir, I pray you, is it your mans quality to rob folkes in 
jest? In faith, he shall be liangd in jest. 

Henry 5. Well, my Lord, once againe, what meane you to doe with him ? 

Judge. And please your Grace, according to law and justice he must be hangd. 

Henry 5. Why, then, belike you meane to hang my man. 

Judge. I am sorry that it fals out so. 

Henry 5. Why, my Lord, I pray yee who am I ? 

Judge. And please your Grace, you are my L. the yong Prince, our King that 
shall be after the decease of our soveraigne Lord, K, Henry the fourth, whom 
God grant long to raigne. 

Henry 5. You say true, my Lord : and you will hang my man. 

Judge. And like your Grace, I must needs doe justice. 

Henry 5. Tell me, my Lord, shall I have my man ? 

Judge. I cannot, my Lord. 

Henry 5. But will you not let him goe ? 

Judge. I am sorry that his case is so ill. 

Henry 5. Tush, case me no casings, shal I have my man? 

Judge. I cannot, nor I may not, my Lord. 

Henry 5. Nay, and I shall not say, and then I am answered. 

Judge. No. 

Henry 5. No, then I will have him. \^He giveth Mm a hoxe on the eare. 

Ned. Gogs wounds, my Lord, shall I cut ofiP his head? 

Henry 5. No, I charge you draw not your swords, but get you hence, provide a 
noyse of musitians. Away, be gone. \Exeunt the Theefe. 

Judge. Well, my Lord, I am content to take it at your hands. 
Henry 5. Nay, and you be not, you shall have more. 
Judge. Why, I pray you, my Lord, who am I ? 

Henry 5. You, who knowes not you? Why, man, you are Lord Cheife Justice 
of England. 

Judge. Your Grace hath said truth ; therfore in striking me in this place, you 
greatly abuse me, and not me only, but also your father, whose lively person here 
in this place I do represent. And therefore to teach you what prerogatives meane, 
I commit you to the Elect, untill wee have spoken with your father. 

Henry 5. Why, then, belike, you meane to send mee to the Eleete. 



Judge. I, indeed, and therefore carry him away. 

SJExeimt Henry 5. witli the Officers. 
Judge. Jayler, carry the prisoner to Newgate againe untill the next Sises. 
Jmjler. At your commandement, my Lord, it shall bee done. 

Enter Dericke and John Cobler. 

DericJce. Sownds, maisters, heres adoo, when princes must go to prison : why, 
John, didst ever see the like ? 

John. 0, Dericke, trust me, I never saw the like. 

DericJce. "Why, John, thou maist see, what princes be in choUer. A judge a 
boxe on the eare ! He tell thee, John, 0 John, I would not have done it for 
twenty shillings. 

John. No, nor I ; there had been no way but one with us. We should have 
been hangde. 

Deriche. Faith, John, He tell thee what, thou shalt bee my Lord chiefe Justice, 
and thou shalt sit in the chaire, and ile be the yong prince, and hit thee a box on 
the ear ; and then thou shalt say, to teach you what prerogatives meane, — " I 
commit you to the Eleete." 

John. Come on, ile be your judge ; but thou shalt not hit me hard. 

DericJce. No, no. 

JoJm. What hath he done ? 

DericJce. Marry, he hath robd Dericke. 

JoJm. Why, then, I cannot let him goe. 

DericJce. I must needes have my man. 

JoJin. You shall not have him. 

DericJce. Shall I not have my man ? say no, and you dare : How say you ? shall 
I not have my man ? 

JoJm. No, marry, shall you not. 
DericJce. Shall I not, John? 
JoJm. No, Dericke. 

DericJce. Why, then take you that til more come ! Sownes, shall I not have 
him ? 

JoJin. Well, I am content to take this at your hand. But, I pray you, who 
am I. 

Deriche. Who art thou ? sownds, dost not know thyselfe ? 
JoJm. No. 

DericJce. Now, away, simple fellow ! Why, man, thou art John the Cobler. 
JoJm. No, I am my Lord Chiefe Justice of England. 
DericJce. Oh, John, Masse, thou sayst true ; thou art indeed. 
JoJm. Why, then, to teach you what prerogatives mean, I commit you to the 

DericJce. Wei, I will go, but yfaith, you gray beard knave, lie course you. 
[^Exit. And straigJit enters againe.'] Oh, John, com, come out of thy chair ; why, 
what a clown weart thou, to let me hit thee a boxe on the eare, and now thou 
seest they will not take mee to tlie Elect, I thinke that thou art one of these 
worenday clownes. 

JoJm. But I marvell what will become of thee ? 

DericJce. Eaith, ile be no more a carrier. 

JoJm. What wilt thou then do ? 

DericJce. lie dwell with thee, and be a cobler. 

JoJm. With me ? alasse, I am not able to keepe thee ! Why, thou wilt eate 
me out of dores. 




Dcrickc. Oh, Jolin, no, John, I am none of these great slouching fellows that 
devoure these great peeces of beefe and brewes ; alasse, a trifle serves me, a wood- 
cocke, a chicken, or a capons leg, or any such little thing serves me. 

John. A capon, why, man, I cannot get a capon once a yeare, except it be at 
Cliristmas, at some other mans house, for we coblers be glad of a dish of rootes. 

Dericl-e. Eootes ? why, are you so good at rooting ? Nay, cobler, weele have 
you ringde. 

John. But, Dericke, though we be so poore, 
Yet will we have in store, — a crab in the fire, 
AVith nut-browne ale, that is full stale, 
"Which will a man quaile, — and lay in the myre. 

Dericl'C. A bots on you ! and be but for your ale. He dwell with you ; come 
lets away as fast as we can. [Exeunt. 

Enter the young Prince iv'ith Ned and Tom. 

Henry 5. Come away, sirs, Gogs wounds, Ned, didst thou not see what a boxe 
on the eare I tooke my Lord Cliiefe Justice ? 

Tom. By gogs blood, it did me good to see it ; it made his teeth jarre in his 

Enter Sir John Old- Castle. 

Henry 5. How now, sir John Old-Castle ? What newes with you ? 
John Old-Castle. I am glad to see your Grace at libertie, I was come, I, to 
visite you in prison. 

Henry 5. To visite mee? Didst thou not know that I am a Princes sonne? 
why, 'tis enough for me to looke into a prison, thogh I come not in myselfe, but 
heres such adoo now a dayes, heres prisoning, heres hanging, whipping, and the 
divell and all ; but I tell you, sirs, when I am King, wee will have no such things, 
but, my lads, if the olde King my father were dead, we would be all Kings. 

John Old-Castle. He is a good olde man; God take him to his mercie the 

Henry 5. But, Ned, so soone as I am King, the first thing I will doo, shal be 
to put my Lord Chiefe Justice out of office, and thou shalt be my L. Chiefe 
Justice of England. 

Ned. Shall I be Lord Chiefe Justice ? By gogs wounds, ile be the bravest Lord 
Chiefe Justice that ever was in England. 

Henry 5. Then, Ned, ile turne all these prisons into fence-schooles, and I will 
endue thee with them, with landes to maintaine them withall, and then I will have 
a bout with my Lord Chiefe Justice ; thou shalt hang none but pick-purses, and 
horse-stealers, and such base minded villaines, but that fellow that will stand by 
the high-way side couragiously, with his sword and buckler, and take a purse, 
that fellowe give him commendations ; beside that, send him to mee, and I will 
give him an annuall pension out of my Exchequer, to maintaine him all the dayes 
of his life. 

John. Nobly spoken, Harry; wee shall never have a merry world till the old 
King be dead. 

Ned. But whether are yee going now ? 

Heyiry 5. To the court, for I heare say, my father lyes verie sicke. 
Tom. But I doubt, he will not die. 

Henry 5. Yet will I goe thither, for the breath shall be no sooner out of his 
mouth, but I will clap the crowne on my head. 




Although the whole of this drama, with the exception of a 
few lines, is written in prose, the printers of the old editions 
have arranged nearly all of it as if it were blank-verse, which 
was, at the time they were published, the more popular form 
of composition. It is unnecessary to enlarge on the small 
degree of literary merit which can be assigned to the Famous 
Victories, even with making due allowance for the early period 
at which it was probably written, it being perhaps of a date not 
later than the year 1575, or thereabouts. Shakespeare, how- 
ever, was indebted to it for the idea of introducing Prince Henry 
on the stage in the character of a wild and dissolute youth and 
of that of a distinguished soldier in the same drama. The 
robbery at Gadshill was evidently suggested by the scene in 
the old play, and the dialogue between Gadshill and the carriers 
originated perhaps in the second robbery in that piece, which 
is perpetrated on a poor carrier by one of the Prince's servants ; 
unless, indeed, the introduction of the Carrier with the Sheriff, 
when the latter seeks Falstaff, shows that the former was one of 
the persons robbed. It is not impossible, however, that Shake- 
speare may have confused the two incidents, and that we owe 
the appearance of the Carrier with the Sheriff to a remembrance 
of the elder drama. The characters, as delineated by the more 
ancient writer, bear no resemblance to those familiar to us in 
the plays of Shakespeare. The Prince himself is introduced as 
a low profligate, while Oldcastle and the rest are merely ruffians, 
their licentiousness being without any of the relief afforded by 
the humour of their successors in Henry the Fourth. Never- 
theless, the Famous Victories appears to have been popular. 
When it was played by Ilenslowe's Company in 1595, the 
receipts were unusually large, — " 28 of November, 1595, at 
Harry the V., iij. li. vj. s." The other notices of it, previously 
quoted, also show its popularity. 

The play of the Famous Victories has perhaps reached us 
in an imperfect shape, and it is, therefore, difficult to ascertain 
the exact nature of Shakespeare's obligations to that piece. The 
character of Sir John Oldcastle, as there introduced, bears no 
resemblance to that of Falstaff ; but it is not improbable that, 
if the old play had been preserved in its full proportions, some 
of the personal characteristics of the latter, such as his great 
size, might have been recognised. If this view be adopted, it 
is uncertain whether such allusions as the following refer to 
Shakespeare's play or to the elder drama. It certainly appears 




from a passage in the Meeting of Gallants at an Ordinaire, or 
the AValkes in Powles, 1004, that Sir John Olclcastle was repre- 
sented on the stage as a very fat man, whieh is certainly not the 
ease in the play printed under that title in 1600 : — " Now, 
signiors, how like you mine host? did I not tell you he was a 
madde round knave and a merrie one too ? and if you chaunee 
to talke of fatte Sir John Oldeastle, he will tell you, he was his 
great grandfather, and not mueli unlike him in imimch, if you 
marke him well hy all descriptions." The host, who is here 
described, returns to the gallants, and entertains them with telling 
them stories. After his first tale, he says ; — " Nay, gallants, I'll 
fit you, and now I will serve in another, as good as vinegar and 
pepper to your roast beefe." Signor Kickshawe replies ; — " Let's 
have it, let's taste on it, mine host, my noble fat actor T There 
is another passage to the same effect in a pamphlet entitled the 
Wandering Jew telling Fortunes to Englishmen, 4to. Loud. 
1640, p. 38, which was certainly written before the year 1630. 
The character Glutton is speaking: — "A chaire, a chaire, sweet 
master Jew, a chaire. All that I say is this, — I'me a fat man. It 
has been a West-Indian voyage for me to come reeking hither. 
A kitchin-stuffe wench might pick up a living by following me 
for the fat which I loose in stradling. I doe not live by the 
sweat of my brows, but am almost dead with sweating. I eate 
much, but can talke little. Sir John Oldeastle was my great- 
grandfather's father's uncle, — I come of a huge kindred !" As 
far as we can now judge, from the materials before us, Shake- 
speare adopted nothing of Oldeastle but the name, and even that 
he was compelled to alter for prudential reasons. According to 
Rowe, in his liife of Shakespeare, 1709, the " part of Falstaff is 
said to have been written originally under the name of Oldeastle ; 
some of that family being then remaining, the Queen was pleas'd 
to command him to alter it ; upon which he made use of Falstaff. 
The present offence was indeed avoided ; but I don't know 
whether the author may not have been somewhat to blame in 
his second choice, since it is certain that Sir John Falstaff, who 
was a Knight of the Garter, and a Lieutenant-General, was a 
name of distinguish 'd merit in the wars in France in Henry the 
Fifth's and Henry the Sixth's times." Rowe here falls into an 
error, committed by many early writers, the names being 
frequently spelt in the same or nearly in the same manner, of 
confusing Falstaff, a fictitious name, with that of Fastolf, the 
historical Sir John Fastolf, who is one of the characters in the 




First Part of Henry the Sixth, and of whom Fuller, in his Worthies, 
ed. 1662, thus writes, — " Sir John Fastolfe, knight, was a native 
of this county (Norfolk). To avouch him by many arguments 
valiant, is to maintain that the sun is bright ; though, since the 
stage has been over-bold with his memory, making him a 
thrasonical puff, and emblem of mock-valour. True it is, Sir 
John Oldcastle did first bear the brunt of the one, being made 
the makesport in all jilays for a coward. It is easily known out 
of what purse this black-penny came. The papists railing on 
him for a heretick ; and therefore he must be also a coward : 
though indeed he was a man of arms, every inch of him, and as 
valiant as any of his age. Now as I am glad that Sir John Old- 
castle is put out, so I am sorry that Sir John Fastolfe is put in, 
to relieve his memorv in this base service ; to be the anvil for 
every dull wit to strike upon. Nor is our comedian excusable 
by some alteration of his name, writing him Sir John Falstafe, 
and making him the property and pleasure of King Henry V. to 
abuse, seeing the vicinity of sounds intrench on the memory of 
that worthy knight — and few do heed the inconsiderable differ- 
ence in spelling of their name." Similar observations occur in 
a very curious dedicatory epistle addressed to Sir Henry Bour- 
chier by Dr. Richard James, who died in 1638. It is annexed 
to an unpublished manuscript entitled, the Legend and Defence 
of the noble Knight and Martyr, Sir John Oldcastel, several 
copies of which, in the handwriting of Dr. James, are still pre- 
served, varying very slightly from each other. In the course of 
this epistle. Dr. James relates that, — "A young gentle ladie of 
your acquaintance, having read the works of Shakespeare, made 
me this question : — How Sir Jhon Falstaffe, or Fastolf, as it is 
written in the statute book of Maudlin Colledge, in Oxford, 
where everye daye that societie were bound to make memorie 
of his soule, could be dead in Harrie the Fift's time, and againe 
live in the time of Harrie the Sixt, to be banisht for cowardize. 
Whereto 1 made answeare that this was one of those humours 
and mistakes for which Plato banisht all poets out of his 
commonwealtth ; that Sir Jhon Falstaffe was in those times a 
noble valiant souldier, as apeeres by a book in the Herald's 
Office dedicated unto him by a herald whoe had binne with him, 
if I well remember, for the space of twenty-tive yeeres in the 
French wars ; that he seemes also to have binne a man of learning, 
because in a librarie of Oxford, I finde a book of dedicating 
churches, sent from him for a present unto Bisshop Wainflete, 




and inscribed witli his owne hand ; — that in Shakespeare's first 
shewe of Ilarrie the Fift, the person with which he undertook 
to play a buffone, was not FalstafFe, hut Sir Jhon Oldcastle ; 
and that offence beinge w orthily taken by personages descended 
from his title, as peradventure by manie others allso whoc ought 
to have him in honourable niemorie, the poet was putt to make 
an ignorant sliifte of abusing Sir Jhon Fastolphe, a man not 
inferior of vertue, though not so famous in pietie as the other, 
whoe gave witnesse unto the truth of our Reformation, with a 
constant and resolute martyrdom, unto which he was pursued 
by the priests, bishops, moncks, and friers of those dayes." The 
writer no doubt intended to w rite " first shewe of Harrie the 
Fourth,'' it being clear, from the epilogue to the Second Part of 
Henry the Fourth, that Shakespeare had altered the name of 
Oldcastle to that of Falstaff before he wrote Henry the Fifth. 
The tradition mentioned by Rowe is thus confirmed by the 
earlier and positive testimony of Dr. James, "offence being 
worthily taken by personages descended from his title," perhaps 
by William Lord Cobham, who died in 1597, being then, 
observes Mr. Hunter, " Lord Chamberlain of the Household, an 
office which would give the weight of authority to any wish he 
might express for the forbearing to bring into contem2:)t upon 
the stage any person so nearly connected with his house as Sir 
John Oldcastle, if the holding that office by him did not itself 
suggest the propriety of withdrawing it." The name of Oldcastle 
was certainly altered by Shakespeare before February 25th, 1598, 
on which day the play was entered on the books of the Stationers' 
Company as including "the conceipted mirth of Sir John 
Falstaffe." It would seem, however, that the former name 
continued to be used in some of the theatres for a considerable 
period, perhaps as long as the author's manuscript was preserved, 
for otherwise it is difficult to account for the several allusions to 
the character in works of the seventeenth century. Thus, in 
Amends for Ladies, 1639, a play by Nathaniel Field, which 
could not have been written before 1611, Falstaff 's description 
of honour is mentioned by a citizen of London as if it had been 
delivered by Sir John Oldcastle : — 

1 doe lieare 

Your Lordship this faire morning is to fight, 
And for your honor. Did you never see 
The play where the fat knight, hight Old-castle, 
Did tell you truely what this " honour" was. 




Bagwell, in his poem entitled the Merchant Distressed, 1644, 
speaking of idle cowardly captains, observes that, although they 
" have no skill in martiall discipline, yet they'le brag, as if they 
durst to fight, — with Sir John Oldcastle, that high-flowne 
knight." The allusion is clearly to the character now called 
FalstafF. So again in the play of Hey for Honesty, 1651, — 
" the sinke is paved with the rich rubies and incomparable 
carbuncles of Sir John Oldcastle's nose," reference to which is 
also made in Gayton's Festivous Notes upon Don Quixote, 1654, 
p. 49. There is internal evidence in the First Part of Henry 
the Fourth that the fat and merry knight was originally called 
Oldcastle. In the first act, the Prince addresses him as, my 
old lad of the castle ;" and, in a line in the second act, the name 
Oldcastle is required by the metre, — " Away, good Ned ; FalstafF 
sweats to death." Stage-poets, says Fuller, in his Church History, 
ed. 1655, p. 168, — " have themselves been very bold with, and 
others very merry at, the memory of Sir John Oldcastle, whom 
they have fancied a boon companion, a jovial royster, and yet a 
coward to boot, contrary to the credit of all chronicles, owning 
him a martial man of merit. The best is Sir John Falstaffe 
hath relieved the memory of Sir John Oldcastle, and of late is 
substituted buffoone in his place, but it matters as little what 
petulant poets as what malicious Papists have written against 
him." To the same purpose is the following stanza in a long 
unpublished work, the Trinarchodia, written by George Daniel, 
a Yorkshire poet, about the year 1646, — 

The worthy Sir whom Falstaff's ill-us'd name 

Personates on the stage ; lest scandall might 
Creepe backward, and blott Martir, were a shame ; 
Though Shakespeare, storie ; and Fox, legend write ; 
That manuall, where dearth of storie brought 
Such saints, worthy this age to make it out. 

The action of the First Part of Henry the Fourth commences 
with the news brought to the King of Hotspur's defeat of the 
Scots at Ilomildon on the 14th of September 1402, and it closes 
with the celebrated battle of Shrewsbury, which was fought in 
July, 1403, so that the duration of the historical events introduced 
into this drama extends very slightly over the brief period of ten 
months. These transactions are chiefly founded on the corre- 
sponding narrative in the Chronicles of Holinshed, the following- 
extracts from which exhibit the main circumstances adopted by 
the great dramatist : — 

IX, 31 



Owen Glcndouer, according to his accustomed manner, robbing and spoiling 
\vithin the English borders, caused all the forces of the shire of Hereford to assemble 
togither against them, under the conduct of Edmund Mortimer carlo of ]\1 arch. 
Eut comming to trie the matter by battell, whether by treason or otherwise, so it 
fortuned, that the English power was discomfited, the earle taken prisoner, and 
above a thousand of his people slaine in the place. The shamefull villanie, used 
by the Welshwomen towards the dead carcasses, was such, as honest eares would 
be ashamed to lieare, and continent toongs to speake thereof. The dead bodies 
might not be buried, without great summes of monie given for libertie to conveie 
them awaie. The king was not hastie to purchase the deliverance of the earle 
March, bicause his title to the crowne was well inough knowen, and therefore 
suffered him to remaine in miserable prison, wishing both the said earle, and all 
other of his linage out of this life, with God and his saincts in heaven, so they 
had beene out of the waie, for then all had beene well inough as he thought. 
About mid of August, the king, to chastise the presumptuous attempts of the 
"Welshmen, went with a great power of men into Wales, to pursue the capteine of 
the Welsh rebell, Owen Glendouer, but in effect he lost his labor; for Owen 
conveied liimselfe out of the waie, into his know^en lurking places, and, as was 
thought, through art magike, he caused such foule weather of winds, tempest, 
raine, snow, and haile to be raised, for the annoiance of the kings armie, 
tliat the like had not beene heard of ; in such sort, that the king was constreined 
to returne home, having caused his people yet to spoile and burne first a great part 
of the countrie. The Scots under the leding of Patrike Hepborne, of the Hales 
the yoonger, entring into England, were overthrowen at Nesbit, in the marches, as 
in the Scotish Chronicle ye may find more at large. This battell was fought the 
two and twentith of June, in this yeare of our Lord 1402. Archembald earle 
Dowglas, sore displeased in his mind for this overthrow, procured a commission to 
invade England, and that to his cost, as ye may likewise read in the Scotish 
histories. Eor at a place called Homildon, they were so fiercelie assailed by the 
Englishmen, under the leading of the lord Persie, surnamed Henrie Hotspur, and 
George Earle of March, that with violence of the English shot they were quite 
vanquished and put to flight, on the Hood dale in harvest, with a great slaughter 
made by the Englishmen. We know that the Scotish writers note this battell to 
have chanced in the yeare 1403 ; but we following Tho. Walsingham in this 
place, and other English writers, for the accompt of times, have thought good to 
place it in this yeare 1402, as in the same writers we find it. There were slaine 
of men of estimation, sir John Swinton, sir Adam Gordon, sir John Leviston, sir 
Alexander Eamsie of Dalehousie, and three and twentie knights, besides ten 
thousand of the commons ; and of prisoners among other were these, Mordacke 
earle of Fife, son to the governour Archembald earle Dowglas, which in the fight 
lost one of his eies, Thomas erle of Murrey, Robert earle of Angus, and, as some 
writers have, the earles of Atholl and Menteith, with five hundred other of meaner 
degrees. After this, the lord Persie, having bestowed the prisoners in suer 
keeping, entered Tividale, wasting and destroieng the whole countrie, and then 
besieged the castell of Cocklawes, whereof was capteine one sir John Grenlow, 
who compounded with the Englishmen, that if the castell were not succoured 
within three moneths, then he would deliver it into their hands. The first two 
moneths passed, and no likelihood of rescue appeared ; but yer the third moneth 
was expired, the Englishmen being sent for to go with the king into Wales, raised 
their siege and departed, leaving the noble men prisoners with the earle of 
Northumberland, and with his sonne the lord Persie, to keepe them to the kings 
use. Edmund Mortimer earle of March, prisoner with Owen Glendouer, whether 
for irkesomnesse of cruell captivitie, or feare of death, or for what other cause, it 





is uncerteine, agreed to take part with Owen, against the king of England, and 
tooke to wife the daughter of the said Owen. Strange wonders happened (as men 
reported) at the nativitie of this man, for the same night he was borne, all his 
fathers horsses in the stable were found to stand in bloud up to the bellies. The 
morow after the feast of saint Michaell, a parlement began at Westminster, which 
continued the space of seaven weekes, in the same was a tenth and a halfe granted 
by the cleargie, and a fifteenth by the communaltie. Moreover, the commons in 
this parlement besought the king to have the person of George earle of March a 
Scotishman, recommended to his majestic, for that the same earle shewed himselfe 
faithfull to the king and his realme. 

Henrie earle of Nortliumberland, with his brother Thomas earle of Worcester, 
and his sonne the lord Henrie Persie, surnamed Hotspur, which were to king 
Henrie in the beginning of his reigne, both faithfull freends, and earnest aiders, 
began now to envie his wealth and felicitie ; and especiallie they were greeved, 
bicause the king demanded of the earle and his sonne such Scotish prisoners as 
were taken at Homeldon and Nesbit ; for of all the captives which were taken in 
the conflicts foughten in those two places, there was delivered to the kings posses- 
sion onelie Mordake earle of Eife, the duke of Albanies sonne, though the king did 
divers and sundrie times require deliverance of the residue, and that with great 
threatnings; wherewith the Persies being sore offended, for that they claimed them 
as their owne proper prisoners, and their peculiar preies, by the counsell of the lord 
Thomas Persie earle of Worcester, whose studie was ever (as some write) to 
procure malice, and set things in a broile, came to the king unto Windsore (upon 
a purpose to proove him) and there required of him, that either by ransome or 
otherwise, he would cause to be delivered out of prison Edmund Mortimer earle of 
March, their cousine germane, whome (as they reported) Owen Glendouer kept in 
filthie prison, shakled with irons, onelie for that he tooke his part, and was to him 
faithfull and true. The king began not a little to muse at this request, and not 
without cause : for in deed it touched him somewhat neere, sith this Edmund was 
sonne to Roger earle of March, sonne to the ladie Philip, daughter of Lionell duke 
of Clarence, the third sonne of king Edward the third ; which Edmund at king 
Eichards going into Ireland, was proclamed heire apparant to the crowne and 
realme, whose aunt called Elianor, the lord Henrie Persie had married; and there- 
fore king Henrie could not well heare, that anie man should be earnest about the 
advancement of that linage. The king when he had studied on the matter, made 
answer, that the earle of March was not taken prisoner for his cause, nor in his 
service, but willinglie suffered himselfe to be taken, bicause he would not withstand 
the attempts of Owen Glendouer, and his complices, and therefore he would 
neither ransome him, nor releeve him. The Persies with this answer and 
fraudulent excuse were not a little fumed, insomuch that Plenrie Hotspur said 
openlie ; Behold, the heire of the relme is robbed of his right, and yet the robber 
with his owne will not redeeme him. So in this furie the Persies departed, 
minding nothing more than to depose king Henrie from the high type of his roialtie, 
and to place in his seat their cousine Edmund earle of March, whom they did not onlie 
deliver out of captivitie, but also (to the high displeasure of king Henrie) entered 
in league with the foresaid Owen Glendouer. Heerewith, they by their deputies 
in the house of the archdeacon of Bangor, divided the realme amongst them, 
causing a tripartite indenture to be made and sealed with their scales, by the 
covenants whereof, all England from Severne and Trent, south and eastward, was 
assigned to the earle of March : all Wales, and the lands beyond Severne westward, 
were appointed to Owen Glendouer : and all the remnant from Trent northward, 
to the lord Persie. This was doone (as some have said) through a foolisii credit 
given to a vaine prophesie, as though king Henrie was the moldwarpe, curssed of 




God's ownc mouth, and tlicy three were the dragon, the lion, and the woolfe, 
which shoukl divide this reahne betvveene them. Such is the deviation (saitli 
Hall) and not divination of those blind and fantasticall drcaines of the Welsh 
prophesiers. King- Henrie not knowing of this new confederacic, and nothing 
lesse minding than that which after happened, gathered a great armie to go againe 
into AVales, whereof the earle of Northumberland and his sonne were advertised by 
the earle of AVorcester, and with all diligence raised all the power they could malve, 
and sent to the Scots which before were taken prisoners at Homeldon, for aid of 
men, promising to the earle of Dowglas the towne of Berwike, and a part of 
Northumberland, and to other Scotish lords, great lordships and seigniories, if they 
obteined the upper hand. The Scots in hope of gaine, and desirous to be revenged 
of their old greefes, came to the earle with a great companie well appointed. The 
Persies, to make their part seeme good, devised certeine articles, by the advise of 
Richard Scroope, archbishop of Yorke, brother to the lord Scroope, whome king 
Henrie had caused to be beheaded at Bristow. These articles being shewed to 
diverse noblemen, and other states of the realme, mooved them to favour their 
puri)ose, in so much that manie of them did not onelie promise to the Persies aid 
and succour by words, but also by their writings and scales confirmed the same. 
Howbeit, when the matter came to triall, the most part of the confederates aban- 
doned them, and at the daie of the conflict left them alone. Thus after that the 
conspirators had discovered themselves, the lord Henrie Persie desirous to proceed 
in the enterprise, upon trust to be assisted by Owen Glendouer, the earle of March, 
and other, assembled an armie of men of armes and archers foorth of Cheshire and 
Wales. Incontinentlie his uncle Thomas Persie earle of Worcester, that had the 
governement of the prince of Wales, who as then laie at London in secret manner, 
conveied himselfe out of the princes house, and comming to Stafford (where he 
met his nephue) they increased their power by all waies and meanes they could 
devise. The earle of Northumberland himselfe was not with them, but being sicke, 
had promised upon his amendement to repaire unto them (as some write) with all 
convenient speed. These noble men, to make their conspiracie to seeme excusable, 
besides the articles above mentioned, sent letters abroad, wherein was conteined 
that their gathering of an armie tended to none other end, but onlie for the safe- 
gard of their owne persons, and to put some better government in the common- 
wealth. For whereas taxes and tallages were dailie levied, under pretense to be 
imploied in defense of the realme, the same were vainlie wasted, and unprofitablie 
consumed ; and where through the slanderous reports of their enimies, the king 
had taken a greevous displeasure with them, they durst not appeare personallie in 
the kings presence, untill the prelats and barons of the realme had obteined of the 
king licence for them to come and purge themselves before him, bylawfuU triall of 
their peeres, whose judgement (as they pretended; they would in no wise refuse. 
Manie that saw and heard these letters, did commend their diligence, and highlie 
praised their assured fidelitie and trustinesse towards the commonwealth. But the 
king understanding their cloaked drift, devised (by what meanes he might) to quiet 
and appease the commons, and deface their contrived forgeries ; and therefore he 
wrote an answer to their libels, that he marvelled much, sith the earle of Northum- 
berland, and the lord Henrie Persie his sonne, had received the most part of the 
summes of monie granted to him by the cleargie and communaltie, for defense of 
the marches, as he could evidentlie proove what should moove them to complaine 
and raise such manifest slanders. And whereas he understood that the carles of 
Northumberland and Worcester, and the lord Persie, had by their letters signified 
to their freends abroad, that by reason of the slanderous reports of their enimies, 
they durst not appeare in his presence, without the mediation of the prelats and 
nobles of the realme, so as they required pledges, whereby they might safelie come 




afore him, to declare and alledge what they had to saie in proofe of their inno- 
cencie, he protested by letters sent foorth under his scale, that they might safelie 
come and go, without all danger, or anie manner of indamagement to be offered to 
their persons. But this could not satisfie those men, but that resolved to go 
forwards with their enterprise, they marched towards Shrewesburie, upon hope to 
be aided (as men thought) by Owen Glendouer, and his "Welshmen, publishing 
abroad throughout the countries on each side, that king Uichard was alive, whome 
if they wished to see, they willed them to repaire in armour unto the castell of 
Chester where (without all doubt) he was at that present, and redie to come 
forward. This tale being raised, though it were most untrue, yet it bred variable 
motions in mens minds, causing them to waver, so as they knew not to which part 
they should sticke ; and verelie, divers were well affected towards king Eichard, 
speciallie such as had tasted of his princelie bountifulnes, of which there was no 
small number. And to speake a truth, no marvell it was, if manie envied the 
prosperous state of king Henrie, sith it was evident inougli to the world, that he 
had with wrong usurped the crowne, and not onelie violentlie deposed king 
Eichard, but also cruellie procured his death, for the which undoubtedlie, both he 
and his posteritie tasted such troubles, as put them still in danger of their states, 
til] their direct succeeding line was quite rooted out by the contrarie faction, as in 
Henrie the sixt and Edward the fourth it may appeare. 

But now to retm-ne where we left. King Henrie, advertised of the proceedings of 
the Persies, foorthwith gathered about him such power as he might make, and 
being earnestlie called upon by the Scot, the earle of March, to make hast and give 
battell to his enimies, before their power by delaieng of time should still too much 
increase, he passed forward with such speed, that he was in sight of his enimies, 
lieng in campe neere to Shrewesburie, before they were in doubt of anie such thing, 
for the Persies thought that he would have staled at Burton-upon-Trent, till his 
councell had come thither to him to give their advise what he were best to doo. 
But herein the enimie was deceived of his expectation, sith the king had great 
regard of expedition and making speed for the safetie of his owne person, where- 
unto the earle of March incited him, considering that in delaie is danger, and losse 
in lingering. By reason of the king's sudden comming in this sort, they staled 
from assaulting the towne of Shrewesburie, which enterprise they were readie at 
that instant to have taken in hand, and foorthwith the lord Persie (as a capteine 
of high courage) began to exhort the capteines and souldiers to prepare themselves 
to battell, sith the matter was growen to that point, that by no meanes it could be 
avoided, so that (said he) this dale shall either bring us all to advancement and 
honor, or else if it shall chance us to be overcome, shall deliver us from the kings 
spitefull malice and cruell disdaine : for plaieng the men (as we ought to doo) 
better it is to die in battell for the common-wealths cause, than through coward- 
like feare to prolong life, which after shall be taken from us, by sentence of the 
enimie. Hereupon, the whole armie, being in number about fourteene thousand 
chosen men, promised to stand with him as long as life lasted. There were with 
the Persies as chiefteines of this armie, the earle of Dowglas a Scotish man, the 
baron of Kinderton, sir Hugh Browne, and sir Eichard Vernon knights, with 
diverse other stout and right valiant capteins. Now when the two ' armies were 
incamped, the one against the other, the earle of Worcester and the lord Persie 
with their complices sent the articles (whereof I spake before) by Thomas Caiton, 
and Thomas Salvain esquiers to king Henrie, under their hands and scales, which 
articles in effect charged him with manifest perjurie, in that (contrarie to his oth 
received upon the evangelists at Doncaster, when he first entred the realme after 
his exile) he had taken upon him the crowne and roiall dignitie, imprisoned king 
Eichard, caused him to resigne his title, and finallie to be murthered. Diverse 




other matters tliey laid to his charge, as levieng of taxes and tallages, contrarie to 
his promise, infringing of la^ves and customes of the rcalme, and suffering the earle 
of jMarch to remaine in prison, without travelling to have him delivered. All 
which things they as procurors and protectors of the common- wealth, tooke upon 
them to proove against him, as they protested unto the whole world. King 
Henrie, after he had read their articles, with the defiance which they annexed to 
the same, answered the esquiers, that he was readie with dint of sword and fierce 
battcll to proove their quarrell false, and nothing else than a forged matter, not 
doubting but that God would aid and assist him in his righteous cause, against the 
disloiall and false forsworne traitors. The next dale in the morning earlie, being 
the even of Marie Magdalene, they set their battels in order on both sides, and 
now whilest the warriors looked when the token of battell should be given, the 
abbat of Shrewesburie, and one of the clearks of the privie scale, were sent from 
the king unto the Persies, to offer them pardon, if they would come to any reason- 
able agreement. By their persuasions, the lord Ilenrie Persie began to give eare 
unto the kings offers, and so sent with them his uncle the earle of Worcester, to 
declare unto the king the causes of those troubles, and to require some effectuall 
reformation in the same. It was reported for a truth, that now when the king- 
had condescended unto all that was resonable at his hands to be required, and 
seemed to humble himselfe more than was meet for his estate, the earle of 
Worcester (upon his returne to his nephue) made relation cleane contrarie to that 
the king had said, in such sort that he set his nephues hart more in displeasure 
towards the king, than ever it was before, driving him by that meanes to fight 
whether he would or not ; then suddenlie blew the trumpets, the kings part crieng 
S. George upon them, the adversaries cried, Esperance Persie, and so the two 
armies furiouslie joined. The archers on both sides shot for the best game, laieng 
on such load with arrowes, that manie died, and were driven downe, that never 
rose againe. The Scots (as some write) which had the foreward on the Persies 
side, intending to be revenged of their old displeasures doone to them by the 
English nation, set so fiercelie on the kings foreward, led by the earle of Stafford, 
that they made the same draw backe, and had almost broken their adversaries 
arraie. The Welshmen also which before had laine lurking in the woods, 
mounteines, and marishes, hearing of this battell toward, came to the aid of the 
Persies, and refreshed the wearied people with new succours. The king perceiving 
that his men were thus put to distresse, what with the violent impression 
of the Scots, and the tempestuous stormes of arrowes, that his adversaries dis- 
charged freely against him and his people, it was no need to will him to stirre ; 
for suddenlie with his fresh battell, he approched and relieved his men ; so that 
the battell began more fierce than before. Here the lord Henrie Persie, and the 
earle Dowglas, a right stout and hardie capteine, not regarding the shot of the 
kings battell, nor the close order of the ranks, pressing forward togither bent their 
whole forces towards the kings person, comming upon him with speares and swords 
so fiercelie, that the earle of March the Scot, perceiving their purpose, withdrew 
the king from that side of the field (as some write) for his great benefit and safe- 
gard (as it appeared) for they gave such a violent onset upon them that stood about 
the kings standard, that slaieng his standard-bearer sir Walter Blunt, and over- 
throwing the standard, they made slaughter of all those that stood about it, as the 
earle of Stafford, that daie made by the king constable of the realme, and diverse 
other. The prince that daie holpe his father like a lustie yoong gentleman ; for 
although he was hurt in the face with an arrow, so that diverse noble men that 
were about him, would have conveied him foorth of the field, yet hee would not 
suffer them so to doo, least his departure from amongst his men might happilie have 
striken some feare into their harts ; and so without regard of his hurt, he 




continued with his men, and never ceassed, either to fight where the battell was 
most hot, or to incourage his men wdiere it seemed most need. This battell lasted 
three long houres, with indifferent fortune on both parts, till at length, the king 
crieng saint George victorie, brake the arraie of his enimies, and adventured so 
farre, that (as some write) the earle Dowglas strake him downe, and at that instant 
slue sir Walter Blunt, and three other, apparelled in the kings sute and clothing, 
saieng ; I marvel! to see so many kings thus suddenlie arise one in the necke of 
an other. The king in deed vi^as raised, and did that daie manie a noble feat of 
armes, for as it is written, he slue that daie with his owne hands six and thirtie 
persons of his enimies. The other on his part incouraged by his doings fought 
valiantlie, and slue the lord Persie, called sir Henrie Hotspurre. To conclude, the 
kings enimies were vanquished, and put to flight, in which flight, the earle of 
Dowglas, for hast, falling from the crag of an hie raounteine, brake one of his 
cullions, and was taken, and for his valiantnesse, of the king frankelie and freelie 
delivered. There Avas also taken the earle of Worcester, the procuror and setter 
foorth of all this mischeefe, sir Richard Vernon, and the baron of Kinderton, with di- 
verse other. There were slaine upon the kings part, beside the earle of StaflPord, 
to the number of ten knights, sir Hugh Shorlie, sir John Clifton, sir John Cokaine, 
sir Nicholas Causell, sir Walter Blunt, sir John Calverleie, sir John Massie of 
Podington, sir Hugh Mortimer, and sir Robert Causell, all the which received the 
same morning the order of knighthood ; sir Thomas Wendesleie was wounded to 
death, and so passed out of this life sliortlie after. There died in all upon the kings 
side sixteene hundred, and foure thousand were greevouslie wounded. On the 
contrarie side were slaine, besides the lord Persie, the most part of the knights and 
esquiers of the countie of Chester, to the number of two hundred, besides yeomen 
and footmen ; in all there died of those that fought on the Persies side, about five 
thousand. This battell was fought on Marie Magdalene even, being saturdaie. 
Upon the mondaie folowing, the earle of Worcester, the baron of Kinderton, and 
sir Richard Vernon knights, were condemned and beheaded. The carles head v/as 
sent to London, there to be set on the bridge. — The earle of Northumberland was 
now marching forward with great power, which he had got thither, either to aid 
his Sonne and brother (as was thought) or at the least towards the king, to procure 
a peace ; but the earle of Westmerland, and sir Robert Waterton knight, had got 
an armie on foot, and meant to meet him. The earle of Northumberland, taking 
neither of them to be his freend, turned suddenlie backe, and withdrew himselfe 
into Warkewoorth castell. The king having set a stale in things about Shrewes- 
burie, went straight to Yorke, from whence he wrote to the earle of Northumber- 
land, willing him to dismisse his companies that he had wdth him, and to come 
unto him in peaceable wise. The earle upon receipt of the kings letters came unto 
him the morow after saint Laurence daie, having but a few of his servants to 
attend him, and so excused himselfe, that the king (bicause the earle had Berwike in 
his possession, and further, had his castels of Alnewike, Warkewoorth, and other, 
fortified with Scots) dissembled the matter, gave him faire words, and suflPered him 
(as saith Hall) to depart home, although by other it should seeme, that he was 
committed for a time to safe custodie. The king returning foorth of Yorkeshire, 
determined to go into North Wales, to chastise the presumptuous dooings of the 
unrulie Welshmen, who (after his comming from Shrewesburie, and the marches 
there) had doone much harme to the English subjects. But now where the king 
wanted monie to furnish that enterprise, and to wage his souldiers, there were some 
that counselled him to be bold with the bishops, and supplie his want with their 
surplusage. But as it fortuned, the archbishop of Canterburie w^as there present, 
who in the name of all the rest boldlie made answer, that none of his province 
should be spoiled by anie of those naiightie disposed persons ; but that first with hard 




stripes they should understand the price of their rash enterprise. But the king 
nevcrthelcsse so used the matter with the bishops for their good wils, that the 
archbishop at length to pleasure him, calling the cleargie togither, got a grant of 
a tenth towards the kings necessarie charges. 

The first part of Henry the Fourth was entered on the hooks 
of the Stationers' Company on Fehruary 25th, 1597-8, — 
" Andrew Wyse. — Entred for his Copie, under thandes of Mr. 
Dix and Mr. Warden ^lan, a hooke intituled The historye of 
Henry the with his battaile at Shrewsbury e against Henry 
Hottspurre of the Northe, with the eonceipted mirthe of Sir John 
Falstoff." This edition Avas printed anonymously by Peter Short 
in the same year, in a small quarto containing fourty leaves, 
under the title of, — "The History of Henrie the Fovrth ; With 
the battell at Shrewsburie, betweene the King and Lord Henry 
Perey, surnamed Henrie Hotspur of the North. With the 
humorous conceits of Sir lolm Falstaffe. At London, Printed 
by P. S. for Andrew Wise, dwelling in Panics Churchyard, at 
the signe of the Angell. 1598." This impression was reprinted 
in the following year, with a note stating that it was " newly 
corrected '* by the author, but the edition is a mere copy of that 
of ed. 1598, — " The History of Henrie the Fovrth ; With the 
battell at Shrewsburie, betweene the King and Lord Henry Percy, 
surnamed Henry Hotspur of the North. With the humorous 
conceits of Sir lohn Falstaffe. Newly corrected by W. Shake- 
speare. At London, Printed by S. S. for Andrew Wise, dwelling 
in Panics Churchyard, at the signe of the Angell. 1599." On 
June 15th, 1603, Andrew Wise sold the copyright of the j)lay 
to ^latthew Law, as appears from the following entry on the 
books of the Stationers' Company, — " Math : Lawe. — Entred 
for his copies in full courte holden this day, iij. enterludes or 
playes, the third of Henry the 4 the first parte, &;e., all whiche 
by consent of the company are sett over to him from Andr : 
Wyse." The next four editions of the comedy were issued by 
Law under the following titles, — 1. "The History of Henrie 
the Fourth, With the battell at Shrewsburie, betweene the King, 
and Lord Henry Percy, surnamed Henry Hotspur of the North. 
With the humorous conceits of Sir lohn Falstaffe. Newly 
corrected by W. Shake-speare. London Printed by Valentine 
Simmes, for Mathew Law, and are to be solde at his shop in 
Panics Churchyard, at the signe of the Fox. 1604."— 2. " The 
History of Henry the fourth, With the battell of Shrewseburie, 
betweene the King, and Lord Henry Percy, surnamed Henry 

Eniry of they Fuvb Part of J/enfj' the' Fourth/, &cy., fromy the' original E^tstry of tke^ Gmipari^ of StcUu>ner,s, 

1598 - 160S . 




Hotspur of the North. With the humorous conceites of Sir 
lohn Falstaffe. Newly corrected by W. Shake-spearc. London, 
Printed for Mathew Law, and are to be sold at his shop in 
Paules Churchyard, neere unto S. Augustines gate, at the signe 
of the Foxe. 1608."— 3. "The History of llenrie the fourth, 
With the Battell at Shrewseburie, betweene the King, and Lord 
Henry Percy, sur-named Henrie Hotspur of the North. With 
the humorous conceites of Sir John Falstaffe. Newly corrected 
by W. Shakespeare. London, Printed by W. W. for Mathew 
Law, and are to be sold at his shop in Paules Church-yard, neere 
unto S. Augustines Gate, at the signe of the Foxe. 1613." — 
4. " The Historic of Henry the Fourth, With the Battell at 
Shrewseburie, betweene the King, and Lord Henry Percy, sur- 
named Henry Hotspur of the North. With the humorous 
conceits of Sir John FalstafFe. Newly corrected. By William 
Shake-speare. London, Printed by T. P. and are to be sold by 
Mathew Law, dwelling in Pauls Church-yard, at the Signe of the 
Foxe, neere S. Austines gate, 1622." In the folio of 1623, it is 
entitled, " The First Part of Henry the Fourth, with the Life and 
Death of Henry Sirnamed Hot-spvrre," occupying twenty-six 
pages, from p. 46 to p. 73 inclusive. It was again reprinted in 
the quarto form in 1632, the same year in which the 
second folio appeared, and also in 1639, under the following 
titles, — 1. " The Historic of Henry the Fourth : With the 
battell at Shrewesbury, be-tweene the King, and Lord Henry 
Percy, surnamed Henry Hotspur of the North. With the 
humorous conceits of Sir John Falstaffe. Newly corrected, 
By William Shake-speare. London, Printed by John Norton, 
and are to bee sold by William Sheares, at his shop at the great 
South doore of Saint Pauls-Church ; and in Chancery-Lane, 
neere Serieants-Inne. 1632." — 2. " The Historic of Henry the 
Fourth : With the Battell at Shrewsbury, betweene the King, 
and Lord Henry Percy, surnamed Henry Hotspur of the North. 
With the humorous conceits of Sir John FalstafFe. Newly 
corrected, by William Shake-speare. London, Printed by John 
Norton, and are to be sold by Hugh Perry, at his shop next to 
Ivie-bridge in the Strand. 1639." No other old quarto edition 
is known to exist, but either a stock of one of these later editions 
was bought by William Leake, who published late impressions 
of the Merchant of Venice and Othello, or there is a lost edition 
by that publisher, for the play of Henry the Fourth is in a list 
of " Books printed or sold by William Leake at the sign of the 
IX. 33 


Crown in Fleet street between the two Temple Gates," 1653. 
The early quarto editions of 1599, 1604, 1608, 1613, and 1622, 
were reprinted in suecession after the edition of 1598 ; and the 
folio edition was taken from that of 1613, with no alterations of 
suftieient importance to prove that any reference was made to 
the author's manuscript. It follows, therefore, that the only 
real authority for the text of the present drama is the quarto 
edition of 1598. 

Meres, in his Palladis Tamia, 1598, mentions the play of 
Henry the Fourth as one of Shakespeare's tragedies, the incident 
of Hotspur's death perhaps leading him to include it in that 
class ; but he does not describe it as a play in two parts. The 
first part, at least, if not both, is alluded to, and there is a curious 
evidence, in the same work of Meres, of the rapidity with which 
the former attained popularity ; for, in a previous page, he quotes 
one of the Falstaff's sayings, without considering it necessary 
to mention wdience it was derived, — " As Aulus Persius Flaccus 
is reported among al writers to be of an honest life and upright 
conversation, so Michael Drayton among schollers, souldeers, 
poets, and all sorts of people, is helde for a man of vertuous 
disposition, honest conversation, and wel governed cariage, 
which is almost meraculous among good wits in these declining 
and corrupt times, ichen there is nothing but rogery in villanous 
man, and when cheating and craftines is counted the cleanest 
w^it and soundest wisdome." Ben Jonson, in Every Man out 
of His Humour, acted in 1599, refers to FalstafF as then a well- 
know^n character, and the First Part of Henry the Fourth passed 
through no few^er than six editions before its appearance in the 
folio of 1623. It was played at Whitehall, before the Court, in 
May, 1613, under the title Sir of John Falstaff, as appears from 
the following entry in the Harington manuscript, — " Item, paid 
to John Heminges uppon the Counsells warrant dated att White- 
hall, XX. die Maii, 1613, for presentinge before the prinses 
highness the La : Elizabeth and the Prince Pallatyne Elector 
fowerteene severall playes,'' in this list of fourteen " Sir John 

Falstafe " being included, with several other of Shakespeare's 




plays. It was again played at Court, in 1G24, under the 
same title, — " Upon New-years night, the prince only being 
there, the First Part of Sir John FalstafF, by the king's company ; 
att Whitehall, 1624," Herbert's Diary. It continued to be 
popular until the breaking out of the civil wars caused the sup- 
pression of the theatres. In the verses of Leonard Digges on 
Shakespeare, published in 1640, he says, speaking of the 
theatre, — let but FalstafF come, — Hal, Poins, the rest, — you 
scarce shall have a room, — all is so pester'd." Palmer thus 
commences some verses on Fletcher, 1647, — " I could praise 
Heywood now, or tell how long — Falstaff from cracking nuts 
hath kept the throng." According to Wright's Historia Histri- 
onica, 1699, " in my time, before the wars, Lowin used to act 
Falstaffe." After the Restoration of Charles the Second, the 
First Part of Henry the Fourth resumed its position as a general 
favourite, the Second Part not being then in the stock of the 
acting plays. In a manuscript " list of plays acted by the King's 
company at the Red Bull," 1660, is the following entry, — 
" Thursday the 8 No : Henry the Fourthe, first play acted at 
the new theatre." It had been previously acted in the same 
year before the king, as appears from a Prologue dated August 
16th, 1660, written by Jordan, entitled, A Prologue to the 

"We have been so perplex't with gun and drum, 
Look to your hats and cloaks, the redcoats come. 
D'Ambois is routed, Hotspur quits the Field, 
Ealstaff's out-filch'd, all in confusion yield ; 
Even auditor and actor, what before 
Did make the Eed-BuU laugh, now makes it roar. 

And in the last day of the same year its popularity had attracted 
the notice of Pepys, who thus records his first impression of 
the comedy, — " In Paul's Church-yard I bought the play of 
Henry the Fourth, and so went to the New Theatre and saw it 
acted ; but my expectation being too great, it did not please me, 
as otherwise I believe it would ; and my having a book I believe 
did spoil it a little." In the following year he changed his 
opinion, — "4 June, 1661. From thence to the theatre, and 
saw Harry the Fourth, a good play ;" but this favourable notice 
is reversed on a subsequent occasion. There can be, however, 
no doubt that this drama maintained a singular popularity 
throughout all the latter part of the seventeenth century. " I 
have seen," observes Mrs.Behn, in some remarks prefixed to the 




Diitcli Lover, 1G73, " a inaii, the most severe of Johnson's sect, 
sit Avith his hat reniov'd less than a hair's hreadth from one 
sullen posture for almost three hours at the Alehymist, who at 
that excellent play of Harry the Fourth, which yet I hope is far 
enough from farce, hath very hardly kept his douhlet whole." 
So also Dryden's well-known line, — " hut Falstaff seems unimi- 
tahle yet," Essay on Poetry, 1682, p. 16. "As to the comical 
part, 'tis certainly our author's own invention ; and the character 
of Sir John FalstafF is owned by Mr. Dry den to be the best 
of comical characters ; and the author himself had so good an 
opinion of it, that he continued it in no less than four plays. 
This part used to be play'd by Mr. Lacy, and never fail'd of 
universal applause, " Langbaine's account of the English 
Dramatick Poets, 1691. In the year 1700, the First Part of 
Henry the Fourth was altered by Betterton, and published in 
quarto under the following title, — " K. Henry IV. with the 
Humours of Sir John Falstaff. ATragi-Comedy. As it is acted 
at the Theatre in Little-Lincolns-lnn-Fields by His Majesty's 
Servants. Revived, with Alterations. Written Originally by 
Mr. Shakespear. London, Printed for R. W. and sold by John 
Deeve at Bernards-Inn-Gate in Ilolborn, 1700." It is scarcely 
necessary to observe that this alteration is a mere literary 
curiosity, of no critical value or authority. 

The character of FalstafF attained a reputation soon after its 
appearance on the stage, a popularity that has continued without 
intermission to the present time, and which it can hardly fail to 
command as long as English literature exists. Ben Jonson, as 
early as 1599, thus alludes to the fat knight at the conclusion of 
Every Man Out of his Humour, — " Marry, I will not do, as 
Plautus in his Amphrytio, for all this beg a plaudite for God's 
sake ; but if you, out of the bounty of your good liking, will 
bestow it, why, you may, in time, make lean Maeilente as fat 
as Sir John FalstafF." So, again, in Sir John Oldcastle, 1600, — 
" \Yhere the devil are all my old thieves? FalstafF, that villain, 
is so fat, he cannot get on's horse." In the Whipping of the 
Satyre, 1601, the writer says of a certain person, — " Sir John 
FalstafFe w^as not in any way more grosse in body, than you are 
in brayne ;" and Sharpe, in More Fooles Yet, 1610, thus 
commences an epigram, — " How FalstafFe like doth sweld 
Virosus looke, — As though his paunch did foster every sinne." 
The ancient stage-dress of the knight may be gathered from a 
memorandum by Inigo Jones, of the time of James the First, 




respecting a character in one of the court tiiasques, who is 
directed to he dressed, — " hke a Sir John FalstafF, in a rohe of 
russet, quite low, with a great helly, hke a swollen man, long 
moustachios, the shoes short, and out of them great toes, like 
naked feet : huskins, to show a great swollen leg." It may he 
worth notice that about the commencement of the last century, 
there was a traditional story, current in Warwickshire, respecting 
a supposed prototype of FalstafF, thus recorded by Oldys, — " Old 
Mr. Bowman the player reported from Sir William Bishop, that 
some part of Sir John FalstafF's character was drawn from a 
townsman of Stratford, who either faithlessly broke a contract, 
or spitefully refused to part with some land for a valuable 
consideration, adjoining to Shakespeare's, in or near that town." 

The following comedy was selected for private theatrical 
performances at a very early period. Sir Edward Bering of 
Surrenden, who died in the year 1644, caused the two parts of 
the drama to be formed into one acting play, the first part being 
that chiefly used, the only portions of the second which were 
inserted consisting of little more than the opening and the scenes 
relating to the death of Henry. The manuscript of this alteration, 
the earliest known written copy of any of Shakespeare's plays, 
is still preserved. It is a small folio volume, containing fifty- 
five leaves. It was evidently copied by a scribe from printed 
editions, the parts which were to be entirely omitted having 
been indicated probably by Sir Edward Dering, who has also 
made in the rest various alterations, erasures, and additions. In 
one place, he has written in the margin, — " vide printed booke," 
a reference which clearly shows that a published edition, not a 
play-house copy, was used ; and, in another page, there is a 
long paragraph in his handwriting, which appears to have been 
accidentally omitted by the transcriber, but which is found in 
the early printed text. The exact date of the manuscript is a 
subject of conjecture. In Sir Edward Bering's house-hold book 
for I6I9 is the following entry, "for twenty-seven play-bookes, 
nine shillings," no doubt small quarto plays, thus purchased at 
four-pence the volume ; a note which shows that the baronet 
was interested in the drama. One or more of these books may 
have been used in the preparation of this alteration, which 
seems to have been copied from quarto not from folio editions. 
It is scarcely necessary to observe that a manuscript, formed 
under the circumstances here mentioned, is of no manner of 
critical authority. 



King Henry the Eourtli. 

Henry, Prince of Wales, ] 

\som to the King. 
Prince John of Lancaster, J 

Earl op Westmoreland. 

Sir Walter Blunt. 

Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. 

Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. 

Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. 

Scroop, Archbishop of York. 

Archibald, Earl of Douglas. 

Owen Glendo\\t;r. 

Sir Eichard Vernon. 

Sir John Ealstaef. 

Sir Michael, a friend to the Archbishop of Torh. 
Quickly, the host of the Boar's-Head Tavern. 





Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer. 

Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimer. 

Mistress Quickly, hostess of the Boar s- Head Tavern. 

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and 


SCENE— England. 

%d i\t Jftrst. 

SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, 

and others. 

K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, 
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, 
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils 
To be commenc'd in strands afar remote. 
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil ^ 
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood ; 
No more shall trenching war channel her fields, 
Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs 
Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes, 
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,^ 
All of one nature, of one substance bred. 
Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
And furious close of civil butchery, 
Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, 
March all one way, and be no more oppos'd 
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies : 
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, 
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, 
As far as to the Sepulchre of Christ, — 

IX. 33 




Whose soldier now, under whose hlessed cross 
We are impressed and engag'd to fight, — 
Forthwith a power of Enghsh shall we levy f 
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb 
To ehase these pagans in those holy fields 
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet 
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed 
For our advantao-e on the bitter cross. 
But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old, 
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go : 
Therefore we meet not now. — Then let me hear 
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 
Wliat yesternight our council did decree 
In forwarding this dear expedience. 

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, 
And many limits of the charge set down'^ 
But yesternight : when, all athwart, there came 
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news ; 
W^hose worst was, — that the noble Mortimer, 
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,^ 
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, 
A thousand of his people butchered ; 
Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, 
Such beastly, shameless transformation. 
By those Welshwomen done, as may not be 
Without much shame re-told or spoken of. 

K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of this broil 
Brake off our business for the Holy Land. 

West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious lord 
For more uneven and unwelcome news 
Came from the north, and thus it did import : 
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,'' 
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, 
That ever-valiant and approved Scot, 
At Holmedon met, 

W^here they did spend a sad and bloody hour : 
As by discharge of their artillery. 
And shape of likelihood, the news was told ; 
For he that brought them, in the very heat 
And pride of their contention did take horse. 
Uncertain of the issue any wav. 



K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, 
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
Stain'd with the variation of each soiF 
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours ; 
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. 
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited : 
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights, 
Balk'd in their own blood,^ did Sir Walter see 
On Holmedon's plains : of prisoners. Hotspur took 
Mordake, Earl of Fife," and eldest son 
To beaten Douglas ; and the Earls of Athol, 
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith : 
And is not this an honourable spoil ? 
A gallant prize ? ha, cousin, is it not ? 

TV est. In faith, 
It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. 

K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin 
In envy that my Lord Northumberland 
Should be the father to so blest a son, — 
A son who is the theme of honour's tongue ; 
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant ; 
Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride : 
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, 
See riot and dishonour stain the brow 
Of my young Harry. O that it could be prov'd 
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd 
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, 
And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet ! 
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine : 
But let him from my thoughts. — What think you, coz, 
Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners,^'^ 
Which lie in this adventure hath surpris'd, 
To his own use he keej^s ; and sends me word, 
I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife. 

TVest. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, 
Malevolent to you in all aspects 
Which makes him prune himself,^' and bristle up 
The crest of youth against your dignity. 

K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this ; 
And for this cause awhile we must neglect 
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
Cousin, on Wednesday next our coimcil we 

260 KING HENllY THE EOUETH. [act i. sc. ir. 

^Yill hold at Windsor, — so inform the lords : 
But come yourself with speed to us again ; 
For more is to he said and to he done 
Than out of anger can he uttered. 

JFest. I will, my liege. [^Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — London. The Painted Tavern in the Vintry}^ 

Eyiter Prince Henry and Falstaff. 

Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? 

P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and 
unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon henches after 
noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou 
wouldst truly know/* What a devil hast thou to do with the 
time of the day ? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes 
capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of 
leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in 
flame-coloured tafFata,^^ — I see no reason why thou shouldst be 
so superfluous to demand the time of the day. 

Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal ; for we that take 
purses go by the moon^'' and the seven stars,^^ and not by 
Phoebus, — he, "that wandering knight so fair."^^ And, I 
prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, — as, God save thy 
grace, majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none, — 

P. Hen. What, none ? 

Fal. No, by my troth, — not so much as will serve to be pro- 
logue to an egg and butter. 

P. Hen. Well, how then ? come, — roundly, roundly. 

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us 
that are squires of the night's body^^ be called thieves of the 
day's beauty :"° let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the 
shade, minions of the moon ; and let men say we be men of 
good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble 
and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we 

P. Hen. Thou sayest well, and it holds well too ; for the 
fortune of us that are the moon's men doth ebb and flow like the 
sea, being governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, 
now : a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday 



night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning ; got with 
swearing "lay by,"^^ and spent with crying bring in ;" now in 
as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as high 
a flow as the ridge of the gallows. 

Fal. By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And is not my 
hostess of the tavern a most sweet weneh 

P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle." 
And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance 

Fal. How now, how now, mad wag ! what, in thy quips 
and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff 
jerkin ? 

P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of 
the tavern ? 

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time 
and oft. 

P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? 

Fal. No ; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. 

P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch ; 
and where it would not, I have used my credit. 

Fal. Yea, and so used it, that, were it not here apparent 
that thou art heir-apparent, — but, I prithee, sweet wag,^^ shall 
there be gallows standing in England when thou art king ? and 
resolution thus fobbed as it is with the rusty curb of old father 
antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a 

P. Hen. No ; tliou sbalt. 

Fal. Shall I? Oh, rare!'* By the Lord, I'll be a brave 

P. Hen. Thou judgest false already : I mean, thou shalt have 
the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman. 

Fal. Well, Hal, well ; and in some sort it jumps with my 
humour as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you. 

P. Hen. For obtaining of suits ?"^ 

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath 
no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat, ^'^ 
or a lugged bear. 

P. Hen. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. 

Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. 

P. Hen. What say'st thou to a hare,^' or the melancholy of 
Moor-Ditch ?^^ 

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art, indeed, 
the most comparative,^* rascallest, — sweet young prince, — but, 



[act I. sc. II. 

Hal, I prithee, trouble me no more with vanity. I would to 
God thou and I knew where a cominodity^^ of good names were 
to be bought. An old lord of the couneil rated me the other 
day in the street about you, sir, — but I marked him not ; and 
yet he talked very wisely, — but I regarded him not ; and yet he 
talked wisely, and in the street too. 

P. Hen. Thou didst well ; for wisdom cries out in the streets,^" 
and no man regards it. 

Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration,^^ and art, indeed, able 
to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal, 
— God forgive thee for it ! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew 
nothing ; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little 
better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I 
will give it over ; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain : I'll 
be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. 

P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack ? 

Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one ; an I do not, call 
me villain, and baffle me. 

P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee, — from pray- 
ing to purse-taking. 

Enter Pointz at a distance. 

Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal ; 'tis no sin for a man 
to labour in his vocation."^ — Pointz ! — Now shall we know if 
Gadshill have set a match.^^ — O, if men were to be saved by 
merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him ? This is the 
most omnipotent villain that ever cried stand" to a true man. 

P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. 

Poin. Good morrow, sweet Hal. — What says Monsieur 
Remorse? what says Sir John Sack-and-sugar Jack, how 
agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him 
on Good-friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's 

p. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, — the devil shall have 
his bargain ; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs, — he 
will give the devil his due. 

Poin. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the 

P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. 
Poin. But, my lads, my lads, to morrow morning, by four 
o'clock, early at Gadshill there are pilgrims going to Canter- 



bury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat 
purses \ ^ I have visards for you all, you have horses for your- 
selves : Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester : I have bespoke 
supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap : we may do it as secure 
as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns ; 
if you will not, tarry at home and be hanged. 

Fal. Hear ye, Yedward \ if I tarry at home and go not, I'll 
hang you for going. 

Pom. You will, chops ? 

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? 

P. Ken. Who, I rob ? I a thief? not I, by my faith. 

Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship 
in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood royal, if thou darest 
not stand for ten shillings.** 

P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. 

Fal. Why, that's well said. 

P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. 

Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor, then, when thou art king. 

P. Hen. I care not. 

Foin. Sir John, I prithee, leave the prince and me alone : I 
will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he 


shall go. 

Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him 
the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and 
what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for 
recreation-sake) prove a false thief ; for the poor abuses of the 
time want countenance. Farewell : you shall find me in 

P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring ! farewell, Allhallown 
summer!*^ [ii^^^Y Falstaff. 

Foin. Now, my good sweet honey-lord, ride with us to- 
morrow : I have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. 
Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill,*** shall rob those men that 
we have already waylaid ; yourself and I will not be there ; and 
when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut 
this head from my shoulders. 

P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth ? 

Foin. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and 
appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure 
to fail ; and then will they adventure upon the exploit them- 
selves ; which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set 
upon them. 

KING HENRY THE FOURTH. [act i. sc. ii. 

P. lien. Ay, but 'tis like that they will know us by our 
horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be 

Poin. Tut! our horses they shall not see, — I'll tie them in 
the wood ; our visards we will ehange, after we leave them ; 
and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce,*^ to immask 
our noted outward garments. 

P. Hen, But I doubt they will be too hard for us. 

Poin. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred 
cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer 
than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest 
will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue**^ will 
tell us when we meet at supper : how thirty, at least, he fought 
with ; what wwds, what blows, what extremities he endured ; 
and in the reproof of this lies the jest. 

P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee : provide us all things neces- 
sary, and meet me to-night*^ in Eastcheap ; there I'll sup. 

Poin. Farewell, m^f lord. [Exit. 

P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold 
The unyok'd humour of your idleness ; 
Yet herein will I imitate the sun,^° 
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
To smother up his beauty from the world, 
That, when he please again to be himself. 
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. 
If all the year were playing holidays. 
To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come. 
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off. 
And pay the debt I never promised, 
By how nmch better than my word I am, 
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes 
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault. 
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes 
Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill ; 

Redeeming time, when men think least I will. \_Ejcit. 



SCENE III. — Windsor. Another Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Northumberland/^ Worcester, 
Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and others. 

K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and temperate, 
Unapt to stir at these indignities, 
And you have found me ; for accordingly 
You tread upon my patience : but be sure 
I will from henceforth rather be myself. 
Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition ; 
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down. 
And therefore lost that title of respect 
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. 

Tf^or. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves 
The scourge of greatness to be used on it ; 
And that same greatness too which our own hands 
Have holp to make so portly. 

North. My lord,'' — 

K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone f for I do see 
Danger and disobedience in thine eye : 
O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory, 
And majesty might never yet endure 
The moody frontier of a servant brow.'° 
You have good leave to leave us : when we need 
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. \Exit Worcester. 
You were about to speak. To North. 

North. Yea, my good lord. 

Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, 
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took. 
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied 
As is deliver'd to your majesty : 
Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. 

Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
But I remember, when the fight was done, 
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, 
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword. 
Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd, 
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin new rcap'd 


KING llENUY TTTE EOUUTH. [act i. sc. nr. 

Sliow'd like a stubblc-laiul at liarvcst-liomc 

He wjis perfumed like a milliner ; 

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 

A pouneet-box,'^ whieh ever and anon 

lie gave his nose, and took't away again ; — 

Who therewith angry, when it next came there, 

Took it in snufF — and still he smil'd and talk'd ; 

And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by. 

He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly, 

To bring a slovenly unhandsome eorse 

Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 

With many holiday and lady terms 

He question'd me ; among the rest, demanded 

^ly prisoners in your majesty's behalf. 

I, then all smarting with my wounds being cold,"" 

To be so pester'd with a popinjay,*'^ 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 

Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what, — 

He should, or he should not ; — for he made me mad 

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 

And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman 

Of guns and drums and wounds, — -God save the mark ! 

And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth 

Was parmaceti for an inward bruise \ ^ 

And that it was great pity, so it was, 

This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd 

Out of the bowels of the harmless earth. 

Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 

So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns. 

He would himself have been a soldier. 

This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 

I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 

And I beseech you, let not his report 

Come current for an accusation 

Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 

Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, 
Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said 
To such a person, and in such a place. 
At such a time, with all the rest re-told. 
May reasonably die, and never rise 
To do him wrong, or any way impeach 
What then he said, so he unsay it now. 



K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners, 
But with proviso and exception, — 
That we at our own charge shall ransom straight 
His brother-in-law^ the foolish Mortimer 
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd'^* 
The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower,*" 
Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March 
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers,**'' then, 
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home ? 
Shall we buy treason ? and indent with fears,**^ 
When they have lost and forfeited themselves ? 
No, on the barren mountains let him starve ; 
For I shall never hold that man my friend 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 

Hot. Revolted Mortimer ! 
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege. 
But by the chance of war \ ^ — to prove that true 
Needs no more but one tongue for all those w^ounds, 
Those mouthed wounds,**^ which valiantly he took, 
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank. 
In single opposition, hand to hand. 
He did confound the best part of an hour 
In changing hardiment with great Glendower ; 
Three times they breath'd, and three times did tliey drink. 
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ; 
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, 
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds. 
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 
Never did base and rotten policy^" 
Colour her working with such deadly wounds ; 
Nor never could the noble Mortimer 
Receive so many, and all willingly : 
Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. 

K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him 
He never did encounter with Glendower : 
I tell thee. 

He durst as well have met the devil alone 

As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 

Art thou not asham'd ? But, sirrah, henceforth 


KING IIEXKY THE FOUHTII. [act i. sc. iii. 

Let me not hear you speak of ^lortimer : 

Send mc your prisoners with the speediest means, 

Or you shall hear in sueh a kind from me 

As will displease you. — ]My Lord Northumberland, 

We license your departure with your son. — 

Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. 

[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train. 

Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, 
I will not send them : — I will after straight, 
And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, 
Albeit I make a hazard of my head. 

North. What, drunk with eholer? stay, and pause awhile: 
Here comes your uncle. 

Re-enter Worcester. 

Hot. Speak of Mortimer ! 

Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
Want mercy, if I do not join with him : 
Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins. 
And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust, 
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
As high i' the air as this unthankful king, 
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 

North. Brother the king hath made your nephew mad. 

[To Worcester. 

JT^or. Who struck this heat up after I was gone ? 

Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ; 
And when I urg'd the ransom once again 
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale. 
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, 
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 

TVor. I cannot blame him : was he not proclaim'd 
By Richard that dead is the next of blood 

North. He was ; I heard the proclamation : 
And then it was when the unhappy king, — 
Whose wrongs in us God pardon I — did set forth 
Upon his Irish exj^edition ; 
From whence he intercepted did return 
To be depos'd, and shortly murdered. 

JF or. And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth 
Live scandaliz'd and foully spoken of. 



Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; did King Richard then 
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 
Heir to the crown ? 

North. He did ; myself did hear it. 

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, 
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd.^^ 
But shall it be, that you, that set the crown 
Upon the head of this forgetful man. 
And for his sake wear the detested blot 
Of murderous subornation, — shall it be, 
That you a world of curses undergo, 
Being the agents, or base second means. 
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather ? — 
O, pardon me, that I descend so low, 
To show the line and the predicament 
Wherein you range under this subtle king ; — 
Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days. 
Or fill up chronicles in time to come. 
That men of your nobility and power 
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf, — 
As both of you, God pardon it ! have done, — 
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose. 
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke ? 
And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken. 
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off 
By him for whom these shames ye underwent ? 
No ; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves 
Into the good thoughts of the world again ; 
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt 
Of this proud king, who studies day and night 
To answer all the debt he owes to you 
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths : 
Therefore, I say, — 

TVor. Peace, cousin, say no more . 

And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
As full of peril and adventurous spirit 
As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud 
On the unsteadfast footing of a spearJ* 

Hot. If he fall in, good night ! — or sink or swim : — 



SoikI danger from the east unto the west, 
So honour eross it from the north to south, 
And let them grapple : — O, the hlood more stirs 
To rouse a lion than to start a hare ! 

North. Imagination of some great exploit 
Drives him heyond the hounds of patienee. 

Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,^^ 
To pluek hright honour from the pale-fac'd moon ; 
Or dive into the hottom of the deep. 
Where fathom-line could never toueh the ground, 
And pluek up drowned honour hy the loeks ; 
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear 
Without corrival all her dignities : 
But out upon this half-fae'd fellowship !^'' 

W^or. He apprehends a world of figures here," 
But not the form of what he should attend. — 
Good cousin, give me audience for awhile. 

Hot. I cry you mercy. 

TVor. Those same nohle Scots 

That are your prisoners, — 

Hot. I'll keen them all ; 

By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them ; 
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not : 
I'll keep them, by this hand, 

TV or. You start away. 

And lend no ear unto my purposes. — 
Those prisoners you shall keep. 

Hot. Nay, I will ; that's flat 

lie said he would not ransom Mortimer ; 
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 
But I will find him when he lies asleep, 
And in his ear I'll holla " Mortimer!" 

I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak^* 
Nothing but " Mortimer," and give it him, 
To keep his anger still in motion. 

TVor. Hear you, cousin ; a word . 

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy. 
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke : 
And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales,^" — 
But that I think his father loves him not, 



And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
I would have him poison'd with a pot of ale.^^ 

Tf^or. Farewell, kinsman : I will talk to you 
When you are better temper'd to attend. 

North. Why, what a wasp-tongue and impatient fooP^ 
Art thou to break into this woman's mood, 
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ! 

Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods, 
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear 
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
In Richard's time, — what do ye call the place ? — 
A plague upon't — it is in Glostershire ; — 
'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept, — 
His uncle York ; — where I first bow'd my knee 
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 
When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. 

North. At Berkley-castle. 

Hot. You say true : — 
Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! 
Look, " when his infant fortune came to age," 
And, "gentle Harry Percy," and, "kind cousin," — 
O, the devil take such cozeners ! — God forgive me ! — 
Good uncle, tell your tale ; for I have done. 

Wor. Nay, if you have not, to 't again ; 
We'll stay your leisure. 

Hot. I have done, i' faith. 

Tf^or. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. 
Deliver them up without their ransom straight, 
And make the Douglas' son your only mean 
For powers in Scotland ; which, for divers reasons 
Which I shall send you written, be assur'd, 
Will easily be granted. — You, my lord, [To Northumberland. 
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, 
Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, 
The archbishop. 

Hot. Of York, is 't not ? 

TVor. True ; who bears hard 
His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop. 
I speak not this in estimation, 
As what I think might be, but what I know 



KING IIENEY THE FOURTH. [act i. sc. m. 

Is ruminated, plotted, and set down ; 
And only stays but to behold the face 
Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 

Hot. I smell it : upon my life, it will do well. 

North. Before the game's afoot, thou still let'st slip. 

Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot. — 
And then the power of Scotland, and of York, 
To join with Mortimer, ha? 

Jl^'or. And so they shall. 

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 

/For. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed. 
To save our heads by raising of a head ; 
For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 
The king will always think him in our debt, 
And think we think om'selves unsatisfied, 
Till he hath found a time to pay us home ; 
And see, already how he doth begin 
To make us strangers to his looks of love. 

Hot. He does, he does : we'll be reveng'd on him. 

TFor. Cousin, farewell. — No farther go in this, 
Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
When time is ripe, which will be suddenly, 
I'll steal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer 
Where you, and Douglas, and our powers at once. 
As I will fashion it, shall happily meet. 
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms. 
Which now we hold at much uncertainty. 

North. Farewell, good brother : we shall thrive, I trust. 

Hot. Uncle, adieu : — O I let the hours be short. 
Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport. [Exeunt. 

|tot£S to tl^t Jfirst %tl 

^ No more the thirsty entrance of this soil. 

The term entrance is here put for month, and the construction seems to be, — 
" No more shall the thirsty mouth of this soil, imbibing the blood of the soil's own 
children, daub its lips by so doing." A similar metaphor occurs in Genesis, iv. 
11, — " And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to 
receive thy brother's blood from thy hand." The same kind of imagery is found 
in King Henry VI. — " Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth bath drmikT 
Steevens thus neatly explains the lines in the text — " Shakespeare means the 
• thirsty entrance ' of the soil for the porous surface of the earth through which all 
moisture enters, and is thirstily drunk or soaked up." " Porous surface," is the 
exact literal prose of the more poetical phrase, " thirsty entrance." The personi- 
fication of the earth or soil, making it eat or drink, is common. " Quenching the 
gasping furrowes' thirst with rayne," Spenser. " And make the earth devoure her 
own sweet brood," Sonnets. *' The dry and thirsty earth dranke most greedily," 
Taylor's Workes, 1630. Various unnecessary alterations of the word entrance 
have been suggested. Thus, it is altered to hosom in the Dering Manuscript, to 
entrails in ed. 1685, and, by some more recent editors, to Erinmjs. The second 
of these readings is thus supported by Boswell, — " It is not an uncommon licence 
in language to represent the cause of a thing as actually doing it. So, in Antonio 
and Mellida : — " Now lions half-clem'd entrails roar for food." Here it is not 
meant that the entrails roared, which would suggest a ludicrous image ; but that 
the lion, whose entrails were half-clem'd with hunger, roared for food." 

And make the greedy ground a drinking cup, 
To sup the blood of murder'd bodies up. 

Gascoigne's Translation of Eiirijndes, 1587. 

Is all the Uood y-spilt on either part, 
Closing the crannies of the thirsty earth, 
Grown to a love-game, and a bridal feast ? 

The Troublesome Baigne of King John, 1591. 
IX. oo 




" Like the meteors of a Irouhled lieaceu. 

Namely, long streaks of red, which represent the lines of armies ; the appearance 
of which, and tlicir likeness to such lines, gave occasion to all the superstition of 
the counnon people concerning armies in the air, &c. — IPUirhurlon. 

^ Shall ire levy. 

To levy to was the common idiom of the time. " Scipio, before he levied his 
force to the walles of Carthage, gave his soldiers the print of the citie in a cake to 
be devoured," Gosson's School of Abuse, 1587. 

* And many limits of the charge set down. 

To limit is to define; and therefore the limits of the charge may be calcula- 
tions, the estimates, tlie regulated and appointed times for the conduct of the 
business in hand. So, in Measure for Measure : — " between the time of the con- 
tract and U))ut of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea." 
Again, in Macbeth : 

■ I'll make so bold to call. 

For 'tis my limited service. — Ilalone. 

^ The irregular and ivild Glendoirer. 

This Owen Glendouer was sonne to an esquier of Wales, named GrilRth Vichan ; 
he dwelled in the parish of Conwaie, within the countie of Merioneth in North 
Wales, in a place called Glindourwie, which is as much to saie in English, as the 
vallie by the side of the water of Dee, by occasion whereof he was surnamed Glindour 
Dew. He was first set to studie the lawes of the realme, and became an utter- 
barrester, or an apprentise of the law, as they terme him, and served king Uichard 
at Flint castell, when he was taken by Henrie duke of Lancaster, though other 
have written that he served this king Henrie the fourth, before he came to atteine 
the crowne, in roome of an esquier, and after, by reason of variance that rose 
betwixt him and the lord Reginald Greie of Buthin, about the lands which he claimed 
to be his by right of inheritance ; when he saw that he might not prevaile, finding 
no such favor in liis sute as he looked for, he first made warre against the said 
lord Greie, wasting his lands and possessions with fire and sword, cruellie killing 
his servants and tenants. The king advertised of such rebellious exploits, enter- 
prised by the said Owen, and his unrulie complices, determined to chastise them, 
as disturbers of his peace, and so with an armie entered into Wales ; but the 
Welshmen with their capteine withdrew into the mounteines of Snowdon, so to 
escape the revenge which the king meant towards them. The king, therefore, did 
much hurt in the countries with fire and sword, sleing diverse that with weapon 
in hand came forth to resist him, and so with a great bootie of beasts and 
cattell he returned. — Holinshed's Chronicle. 

To this purpose they created for their prince, Owen Glendor, an esquire of 
Wales, a factious person, and apt to set up division and strife ; and although hee 
was of no great state in birth, yet was hee great and stately in stomacke ; of an 
aspiring spirit ; and in wit somewhat above the ordinarie of that untrained people ; 
boulde, craftie, active ; and as he listed to bend his minde, mischievous or 
industrious in equall degree ; in desires immoderate, and rashlye adventurous. In his 
young yeares, hee was brought up to the studye of the common lawe of the realme, 
at London ; and when hee came to mans estate, besides a naturall fiercenesse and 
hatred to the English name, hee was particularlye incensed by a private suite, for 
certaine landes in controversie, betweene the Lord Gray of Ruthen and him ; 
wherein his tytle was overthrowne ; and being a man by nature not of the myldest, 
by this provocation he was made savadge and rough ; determining eyther to repayre 

Facsimile of the' /i/st Pa//e of t/ie' aruu^^tid' nia/?j/srr/p/7 Co/J}' rf the P/cn- ft' Jle/ur the /'aurth . wh/rJi/ nr/y.- mzule^ 

for Si r lldweird' Derinj^i . 

iHovy ^ ^25^ ^ 

>C) ^^Q^»^ cc-^^n-oS- cc-y^-y/G njei:^ ''yai^ ^-^^if^^ 

7^ resort)— ^-uM-^-C^ <=^^2,^.r^f'>^f'rrU''^^ 

Tcfactp 274. 



or to reveng-e his losse, by setting the whole state on fire. Also his expence and 
liberality had bin too excessive for a great man to endure, which brought him to 
barenesse too base for a meane man to beare : and therefore he must of necessity 
doe and dare somewliat, and more danger there was in soft and quiet dealing, then 
in hazarding' rashlie. Heerewith opportunity was then likewise presented ; for 
troublesome times are most fit for great attempts, and some likelyhood there was, 
wildest the King and the Lordes were hard at variance, that harme might easily 
be wrought to them both. Upon these causes his desire was founded, and upon 
these troubles his hope. But that his aspiring and ambitious humour might beare 
some shew of honest meaning, he pretended to his countrymen the recovery of 
their free estate. — Ilai/icard'' s Life of Ileurie the Fourth, 1599. 

^ The gallant Hotspur there. 

Holinshed, in his History of Scotland, p. 240, says : " This Harry Percy was 
surnamed, for his often pricVing, Henry Hotspur, as one that seldom rested, if 
there were anie service to be done abroad." This Henry, says Knighton, speak- 
ing of the early part of Richard the Second, " was called by the French and Scots 
Harre Hatesporre, because, in the silence of the night, and while others reposed 
in sleep, he would labour indefatigably against his enemy, as if heating his spurs, 
which we call Hatesporre." Another writer, Walsingham, says, that " the hopes 
of the whole nation were reposed in him ;" and in all the Chronicles, including 
those of later date from which Shakespeare wrote, all terms of praise are bestowed 
upon the martial spirit and great power of this famous Percy, but there is no trace 
of the peculiar character delineated by the poet. Tyler agrees with Sir Harry 
Nicolas, in tracing in certain letters from Hotspur, recently pubhshed, " a strict 
accordance with the supposed haughty, captious, and uncompromising character 
of that excellent soldier." I doubt whether this remark would have been made, 
if Shakespeare had not taught us to believe that Hotspur deserved the epithets ; 
the letters, in truth, contain firm but temperate remonstrances at the unprovided 
state in which he was left as commander of the King's army ; and a protest, that 
the responsibility of failure rested not upon him, but upon those who withheld the 
necessary payments. Of haughtiness or captiousness I find no more than the 
occasion might well require. — Courtnay. 

Henry, eldest son of Henry Percy first Earl of Northumberland, by Margaret his 
first wife, daughter to Ralph Lord Nevill ; who, from an age in which valour, in 
the popular estimation, may be almost said to have been the " chiefest virtue," has 
transmitted a character for chivalrous achievement superior to most of the warriors 
of his time. He was as much the hope of England, in this respect, as the Black 
Prince before him, or Sir Philip Sydney in later days. Historians rarely mention 
him without admiration ; his name is celebrated in ballads ; and before his death 
he was referred to by pretended seers as the restorer of the fortunes of his country. 
Educated in the Marches, he acquired all the intrepidity and enterprise of a border 
chieftain, and the energy he displayed against the Scots occasioned them to give 
him very early the ironical appellation of Hotspur. The bard of the. battle of 
Otterbourne tells us, 

He had been a march-man all his dayes. 
And kepte Barwyke upon Twede : 

which will fully appear. He was knighted soon after the coronation of Richard IT., 
and one of the first notices of him that occurs in the public Acts of Scotland is as 
follows. Liliat Cross in the Marches of Scotland was a place at which the Englisli 
and Scotch used to decide their personal quarrels by single combat. John 
Chattowe, a Scotch squire, had challenged William de Badby, an Englishman, to 




liglit tlicrc on the feast of Saint Catherine, Nov. 25, 1381. Sucli formal duels 
took place before a judge of the combat; and, as the Duke of Lancaster, then 
king's lieutenant in that district, was absent in attendance upon parliament, Henry 
Percy, the eldest son of the Earl of Northumberland, with John eldest son of John 
de Ncvill of Raby, and two knights, were directed to attend in his stead. In 
7 llic. II., Henry was nominated one of the commissioners for receiving a payment 
of money sent by the king of Scotland ; and 8 llic. 11. joint warden of the Marches 
towards Scotland, with his father, tlie Bishop of Durham, John Nevill, and Roger 
de Clifford. In 9 Ric. II., he was made governor of Berwick upon Tweed and 
the Eastern Marches ; and appointed with others to superintend the repair of Rox- 
burgh castle. It may be conjectured that he was now a better fighter than 
disciplinarian. The farmers of the fishery at Berwick made formal complaint to 
the king tliat his soldiers poached in the Tweed ; and the townsmen, that they 
took by force their victuals and their goods ; but with these disorderly bands he 
scoured the borders so vigilantly, that it gave rise to the uom de guerre already 
mentioned, which Walsingham is careful to explain, for the benefit, no doubt, of 
foreign rather than English readers, by the phrase, quod calidum calcar sonat. In 
this year he was sent to the defence of Calais ; but finding no employment equal 
to his ardour, he soon returned into England. In 2 Ric. II., he undertook, with a 
very inadequate force, to act against the French by sea, upon expectation of an 
invasion, and acquitted himself with honour; and when the Scots about the same 
time invaded the East Marches, and committed great devastation, he met them 
near Newcastle-upon-Tyne, slew the Earl of Douglas with his own hand, and 
wounded the Earl of Murrey ; but pressing too far among the enemy, was taken 
prisoner with his brother Ralph, and carried into Scotland. However, he soon 
obtained his release. In 12 Ric. 11. , he was again appointed Warden of the East 
March. In 13 Ric. IL, he was at Calais, made several excursions towards Boulogne, 
and raised the seige of Brest, demolishing some part of the works, and repairing 
others. In this year he was also made Warden of the "West and East Marches, 
and Governor of Carhsle, with power of granting safe conduct to persons going 
to, or coming out of Scotland. A trifling business of a very diff'erent nature from 
any of the preceding, in which he was at this time an agent, is deserving observa- 
tion, as it shews that the high born ladies of Scotland interested themselves in 
concerns worthy of the pastoral age. He solicited and obtained permission from 
the king on behalf of the Scotch Countess of March, and Maria Heryng, that two 
flocks of one thousand and six hundred sheep, their respective property, with two 
shepherds attached to each of them, might have safe conduct, and leave to pasture 
at Colbrandspath and within five miles in circumference, for three years. The 
king by writ of privy seal, dated at Westminster, July 12, 1389, takes them under 
his special protection. He was now retained to serve the king in peace and war, 
with a pension out of the exchequer, of a hundred pounds per annum, during his 
life. In 14 Ric. II., he was in the commission for keeping the peace with Scot- 
land ; and in 16 Ric. IL, was again at Calais, whence he was recalled to his 
former post at Berwick and in the East March ; besides which he was made 
governor of Bourdeaux. In 17 Ric. IL, he was one of the commissioners to treat 
of peace with the Scots. In 19 Ric. IL, he was employed in France, and had a 
renewal of his appointment at Berwick and in the East March ; and this was 
repeated in 22 Ric. IL, wlien he was constituted conservator of the truce with 
Scotland. By his warden's commission he had full power to punish all offenders 
against the peace, and all who held correspondence with the enemy ; and to call 
out tlie able men of Northumberland and the Marches, within the liberties, 
between the ages of sixteen and sixty, and to see that they were properly armed and 
arrayed. AVhat proportion of force he brought to the Duke of Lancaster does 



not appear. Henry could not have selected a better captain to command under 
him. He continued him in his situation at Berwick. In 1 Hen. IV. he was made 
governor of Roxburgh castle, sheriff of Northumberland, with a grant of the castle 
and lordship of Bamborough, for his life, justice of Chester, North-Wales, and 
Flintshire, and constable of the castles of Chester, Flint, Conway, and Caernarvon. 
Dugdale, quoting the Patent Bolls, has assigned these latter appointments of 
justice and constable both to the father and the son ; but no notice of them is to 
be found in the published calendar ; there is, however, an entry of a grant of the 
county and lordship of Anglesey with the castle of Beaumaris for life. In 3 Hen. IV., 
he was with his father at the victorious battle of Halidon-hill. In the spring 
of this year he laid in, for the consumption of the town and castle of Berwick, 
2,900 quarters of beans, peas, and oats, and 800 quarters of corn, and mixlillion 
(miscellane). These he had license to purchase in the counties of Cambridge, 
Lincoln, and Norfolk, and to ship for Berwick ; and under proper distribution of 
his store, and attention to the conduct of his garrison, now at least the townsmen 
should have had no reason to complain. The next year saw him in opj)osition to 
Henry IV. Under colour of advancing into Scotland, he raised and trained a 
force in the Marches, and drew southward, probably over the very ground he had 
traced in 1399 with the captive king, through Cheshire to Lichfield, and thence 
to Shrewsbury. His uncle Sir Thomas Percy joined him, and the fatal issue of 
their attempt is familiar to every reader. Never for the time was field more 
severely contested than that of Shrewsbury. They were upon the point of assault- 
ing the town, when Henry IV. came in sight, and, after a fruitless attempt at 
negociation, brought them to action. But all his efforts and military skill in 
throwing himself between Owen Glyndwr and his associates, and preventing them 
from effecting a junction, would apparently have little availed, had not a single 
arrow saved his crown, and deprived "the best knight in England" of the victory. 
Heny Percy the younger died, as he had lived, in arms ; and his last words to his 
soldiers before the battle were these ; " Stand to it valiantly ; for tliis day will 
either advance us all, if we conquer ; or free us from the king's power, if we be 
overcome ; since it is more honourable to fall in battle for the public good, than 
after the fight to die by the sentence of an enemy." Henry IV. took a most 
unworthy revenge upon his corpse, after permitting it to be honourably interred ; 
and he was deservedly reminded of this in Scroopes manifesto : " Henricura Percy 
non solum semel occidit, sed quantum in ipso est bis et ter interfecit. Quia 
postquam semel fuit occisus, et Domino de Furnyvale ad sepeliendum traditus 
et liberatus, qui ipsum ecclesiasticjB sepultura?, prout moris eratchristianorura, cum 
honore quo tunc potuit tradidit, et cum suflPragiis mortuorum, missarum, et 
aliarum orationum, ipsius animam apud Deum commendavit ; idem Dominus 
Henricus, ut cruenta bestia, ejus sanguinem denuo sitiens, et ejus corpus de tumulo 
exhumari et extrahi proecepit, et inter duas molas asinarias in quodam vico de 
Shrewsbury juxta collistrigium reponi et sedere fecit, ac cum armatis hominibus 
custodiri, postmodura decoUari, et membratim dividi et quarterisari, et caput et 
ejus quarterias ad regni certas civitates transmitti jussit." I have seen no date 
whereby to fix his age ; but it appears to me that the general impression respecting 
it, which the "Young Harry" of the dramatic poet has helped to fix in our minds, 
does not carry it far enough. His parents were married in 32 Edw. III. and he 
was the eldest child of that marriage. By his wife Elizabeth, eldest dangliter of 
Edmund Mortimer Earl of March, he left one son and one daughter. The former 
was concealed for some time in Scotland ; but was afterwards sought out and 
educated under the compassionate attentions of Henry V., who restored him to his 
hereditary estates and honours. — Webh. 



Slain il irith I he variation of each soil. 

No circumstance could have been better chosen to mark the expedition of Sir 
AV alter. It is used by Talstaff in a similar manner : " As it were to ride day and 
nig-ht, and not to deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience to shift me, 
but to stand stained witli travel." — ITcnleif. 

■ BaWd in llu'ir oirn- hlood. 

A hall' is a ridge of greensward left by tlie plough in ploughing, or by design 
between diflerent occu])ancies in a common Held. The terra is translated by terrm 
porca in an old vocabulary in MS. Bodl. C04, f. 39 ; but by grmnus, a heap, in 
Withals' Dictionarie, ed. 1G08, p. 89. See also Reliq. Antiq. ii. 81 ; Cotgrave, 
mY. Assillonncmoit, Cheintre ; Towneley Myst. p. 99 ; Gov. Myst. p. 343 ; Piers 
Ploughman, p. 123; Plorio, in v. Belimre ; Holinshed, Hist. Ireland, p. 174. 
Prom this last example it appears tliat the explanation given by Withals is correct, 
and Paret has, " a halhe or banke of earth raysed or standing up betweene twoo 
furrowes," Alvearie, 1580. " A ridge or balke, which is the earth cast up 
betweene tv^'o furrowes," Nomenclator, 1585. "By earing up the balks, that 
part their bounds," Gascoigne's Workes, 1587. "A little halhe or heape, 
grumulus," Withals' Dictionarie, ed. 1608, p. 89. " In common speech a balk 
is the same with scanmmi in Latin, i. e., a piece of land which is either casually 
overslip'd, and not turned up in plowing, or industriously left untouched by the 
plow, for a boundary between lauds, or some other use. Hence, to halk, is 
frequently used metaphorically, for, to pass over," Pay's Gollection of English 
Words, 1691. Minsheu has, — " to balke, or make a balk in earing of land." 

Others would change the reading to haJcd in the sense of in crusted, which is 
not without authority from Shakespeare himself. See Hamlet, ii. 2. There, how- 
ever, the blood is hak\l by the fire of the houses, not the person bak'd in blood. 
The following quotation from Hey wood is more apposite : — " Troilus lies emhak'd 

in his cold blood." Again, in Heywood's Iron Age : " halid in hlood and 

dust." Again, ibid. : " as hah d in hlood" — Nares. 

Balh is a ridge ; and particularly, a ridge of land : here is therefore a metaphor, 
and perhaps the poet means, in his bold and careless manner of expression, " Ten 

thousand hlood?/ carcasses piled up together in a long heap. A ridge of dead 

bodies piled up in hlood'' If this be the meaning of halhed, for the greater 
exactness of construction, we might add to the pointing, viz., BaWd, in their own 
blood, &c. — Piled up into a ridge, and in their own blood, &c. But witliout this 
punctuation, as at present, the context is more poetical, and presents a stronger 
image. A halh, in the sense here mentioned, is a common expression in Warwick- 
shire, and the northern counties. It is used in the same signification in Ghaucer's 
Plowman's Tale. — Warton. 

BaWd in their own hlood, I believe, means, laid in lieaps or hillochs, in their 
own blood. Blithe, in his England's Improvement, p. 118, observes ; " the mole 
raiseth halhs in meads and pastures." In Leland's Itinerary, v. 16, 118,' vii. 10, 
a halh signifies a hank or hill. Pope, in the Iliad, has the same thought : 

On heaps the Greeks, on heaps the Trojans hied. 
And thick'ning round them rise the hills of dead. 

In Ghapman's Translation of the Shield of Achilles, 4to. 1598, the word halk 
also occurs : 

Among all these all silent stood their king. 
Upon a halk, his scepter in his hand. — Sleevens. 




^ Mordake earl of Fife. 

Now, my first question is, are two distinct persons here spoken of, or is Mordake 
described both as Earl of Fife, and son to Douglas ? But Mordake was a Stuart, 
and eldest son to Duke Eobert, Governor of the Eealm ; which Kobert was the 
second son of the Scotish King Robert the Second, and by him appointed Duke of 
Albany, and Governor of the Eealm. Then, who is this eldest son to beaten 
Douglas ? Hotspur took Archibald Earl of Douglas himself prisoner at 
Holmedon ; who afterwards appears in our play, and assists Percy at Shrews- 
bury. He is the Douglas himself ; and is called so a few lines backward : — 
for Archibald, his father, and predecessor in the Earldom, was dead some 
time before the affair at Holmedon. Douglas, therefore, that is taken prisoner, 
and is Earl himself, would hardly be described by our poet as the eldest son of 
his dead father Douglas, who had been formerly beaten by the English. I 
almost suspect a line is lost ; by which Mordake is described as eldest son of Duke 
Robert the Governor of Scotland ; and that then we ought to read, " The beaten 
Douglas," &c; for, in the list of prisoners taken, Douglas is named second both by 
Hall and Holinshed, — " and of 'prisoners among others were these, Mordalce Earl 
of Fife, son to the Governor Archembald Earl of Douglas, which in the fight lost 
one of his eyes, Thomas Earl of Murrey," &c. Thus the quotation stands in 
Holinshed ; and, upon second thought, a comma being omitted after the word 
governor, might not our poet take the blunder of the press upon trust, and think 
Earl Douglas was this governor, and that Mordake was his son ? But then another 
difficulty arises ; that though Douglas is said to be beaten, we have no account 
likewise of his being one of the prisoners. — -Theohald. 

The prisoners. 

The denial of the prisoners, of which Shakespeare makes so much, is 
mentioned by Holinshed, on the authority 
of Hardyng, who says that Northumber- 
land gave up his prisoner, namely, the 
Earl of Fife :— 
But Sir Henry his son then would not 

His prisoners in no wise to the King. 
As a follower of the Percies, Hardyng is 
entitled to credit on this point, but the 
King's demand of the prisoners does not 
appear among the alleged causes of re- 
bellion, nor is it dwelt upon by other 
writers of the time. The only official 
document prohibits the captors from 
permitting their prisoners to return to 
Scotland on ransom, but does not require 
the persons or value of the captives, and 
contains an especial salvo of the rights of 
the captors. See the writ directed to the 
two Percies and others, 22d Sept. 1402, 
Bymer, viii. 278. By the law of arms any 
man who had taken any captive whose redemption did not exceed 10,000 crowns 
had him clearly to himself, either to acquit or ransom at his pleasure. The 
indentures of service sometimes contained a special reserve as to prisoners of 



great importance. See Ryraer, ix.« 233. The annexed engraving represents 
an impression of a contemporary seal of the Percy family. 

Malevuleiit to you in all aspects. 
Shakespeare imputes a peculiar degree of hostility to the Earl of "Worcester, the 
brother of Northumberland. Hardyng says that the three Percies jointly 
endeavoured to persuade Henry not to assume the crown, and makes no distinction 
between them. All the three brothers had been employed by Hichard, and deco- 
rated with the Garter; and both the brothers had received earldoms from him. 
Shakespeare's authority is llolinshed, who says of Worcester, " whose study was 
ever (as some write) to procure malice and set things in a broil;" and calls him 
" the procurer and setter forth of all the mischief." It is difficult to get at the 
prime origin of a statement. This is copied from Walsingham, but he only says, 
— " inventor {ut dicittir) totius mali." — Courtiiay. 

^~ Which mahes him prune himself. 
The metaphor is taken from a cock, who in his pride primes himself; that is, 
picks off the loose feathers to smooth the rest. To prime and to phme, spoken of 
a bird, is the same. — Johnson. 

Dr. Johnson is certainly right in his choice of the reading. So, in the 
Cobler's Prophecy, I59Ii : — 

Sith now thou dost but prune thy wings, 
And make thy feathers gay. 
Again, in Greene's Metamorphosis, 1613: — "Pride makes the fowl prime 
his feathers so." But I am not certain that the verb to prune is justly interpreted. 
In the Booke of Haukynge, &c. (commonly called the Booke of St. Albans,) 
is the following account of it : " The hauke proineth when she fetcheth oyle with 
her beake over the taile, and anointeth her feet and her fethers. She plumeth 
when she pulleth fethers of anie foule and casteth them from her." — Steevens. 

The Painted Tavern in the Vintry. 

This stage direction is conjectural, but seems to suit the action of the scene 
better than that usually given, " a room in the Palace," where the Prince could 
hardly be supposed to meet his tavern companions, or to enter upon such a 
dialogue as the present. See also what is said as to the Prince's habits inEichard 
the Second, and his father's statement that he daily frequented the London 
taverns " with unrestrained loose companions," and such taverns " as stand in 
narrow lanes." A room in one of these taverns, not in this instance the Boar's 
Head, appears best adapted to the context. The Painted Tavern in the Vintry is 
here selected, because it is one of the localities mentioned by Stowe as the resort 
of the Princes, when they were amusing themselves with irregular companions. 
The lane was of old time, in 1385, called, " the Painted Tavern Lane, of the 
tavern being painted." 

That truly which thou would'st truly hioic. 

Palstaff, a " minion of the moon," if he cares about knowing the time at all, of 
course wishes to know how near it is to night. That is the real source of his 
anxiety. He mistakes, therefore, altogether in asking the time of the day. 

A fair hot icench in flame-colour' d taffata. 

An upstart gallant was attyr'd in taffeta all over figured with flames of fire, 
which a gentleman seeing, and knowing his base parentage, said to them in his 
company: Behold, yonder strawey cottage goes in danger of fiering. — Wits, 
Fitifs, and Fancies, 1614. 

The epithet flame- coloured was frequently applied to dress. In the Enventorey 



of all the aparell of the Lord Admerelles men, taken the 13th of Marche, 1598, 
we find, flame collerde dublet pynked; "and in Nabbes's Microcosmus (see the 
Dram. Pers.) both Eh'e and Love wear flame- colonrei'" habits. — Douce. 

Enter foure Cupids from each side of the boscage, attired in flame coloured 
taflita close to their bodie like naked boyes, with bowes, arrowes, and wing-g of 
gold. — The Masque of the Inner Temple and Grayes Line, 1012. 

Elame colour is made of vermilion and orpiraent, mixed deep or light at 
pleasure : or thus. Take red-lead and mix it with masticot, which heighten with 
white. — Salmon^ s Arts of DraiDing, 1675. 

Cun. No, madam, you conquer like the King of France. Your subjects for 
ever after are at rest. — TJds. You said as much to the flame-colour d petticoat in 
New Spring Garden. — Cun. She has spies upon me ; 'tis a good sign! There was 
a lady I must confess much of your hight, your shape and meen ; at first I thought 
it was yourself, and therefore I accosted her ; and when I was entred into 
discourse, she ply'd me so fast with the intrigues of the town, I cou'd not 
handsomly get off. — Bellamira or the 3Iistress, 1687. 

Go hy the moon. 

" By the moon, patroness of all purse-takers," Miseries of Inforced Marriage, 
1607. Thus Gamaliel Ratsey and his company "became servants to the moone, 
for the sunne was too hot for them." — Steevens. 

And seven stars. 

That is, the seven planets. " I have already touched this point ; concerning 
the rest, the poet hath ranked and placed very properly the elements and the 
heavens, that is to say, the earth lowest, the water above it, 
the aire more high, the fire above that ; then the heavens of 
the seven planets, environed with the fixed stars, embraced 
by the first moover, above which is the seate of the saints. 
This is the common opinion of astronomicall doctrine, as all 
the doctors both ancient and moderne do testifie. Some one, 
and amongst the rest, Copernicus, hath contradicted them. 
The poet followeth the most received opinion, and that which 
seemeth most likely to be true," Summary upon Du Bartas, 
1631. "Sun, moon, and seven stars, do you know me, forsooth," Win Her and 
Take Her, 1691. " Sun, moon, and seven stars, how do you like me now," ibid. 
The Seven Stars was formerly a common tavern sign, and there is stiU an inn so 
called in High Street, Whitecliapel. The annexed woodcut is copied from a 
tavern token of the seventeenth century. 

He, that icandering hnight so fair. 

Ealstaflf starts the idea of Phoebus, i, e., the sun ; but deviates into an allusion 
to El Donzel del Eebo, the " knight of the sun" in a Spanish romance translated 
(under the title of the Princely Deeds and Mirror of Knighthood,) during the age 
of Shakspeare. This illustrious personage was " most excellently faire,'' and a 
great loanderer, as those who travel after him throughout three thick volumes will 
discover. Perhaps the words " that wandering knight so fair," are part of some 
forgotten ballad on the subject of this marvellous hero's adventures. In Peele's 
Old Wives Tale, Com, 1595, Eumenides, " the wandering knight," is a character. 
— Steevens. 

The " wandering knight so fair" was the Knight of the Sun, who, when Don 
Quixote disputed with the Curate which was the better knight, Palmerin of 
England or Amadis de Gaul, was maintained by master Nicolas, the barber- 
surgeon, to be that knight to whom " none ever came up." The adventures of the 
IX. 06 


Knight of the Sun were translated into English in 1585; and the renowned 
wortliy is described in the romance not only as a prodigious " wanderer" but as 
" most excellently fair." Ealstaif's allusion to the romance M'ould be well under- 
stood by many of Shakspcre's audience ; nor would they object to the sun being 
represented as a wanderer, according to the long-received theory which the 
discoveries of Copernik had scarcely then shaken. — Knight. 

Falstaff, with great propriety, according to vulgar astronomy, calls the sun a 
fanderiug hnight, and by this expression evidently alludes to some hero of 
romance. Now tiiough the Knight of the Sun was doubtless a great wanderer, 
he was not more so than others of his profession ; and therefore it is possible that 
.Falstaff nuiy refer to another person particularly known by the name of the wan- 
dering Jcnight, and the hero of a spiritual romance translated in Shakespeare's 
time from the French by William Goodyeare, under the last-named title. — 

" Squires of the nighCs body. 

Constant attendants on the night, the speaker quibbling on the word hnight. 
A "squire of the body," signified originally, the attendant on a knight; the 
person who bore his head-piece, spear, and shield. It became afterwards the cant 
term for a j^imp ; and is so used in tlie second part of Decker's Honest Whore, 
1630. Again, in the Witty Fair One, 1633, for a procuress : " Here comes the 
sqnire of her mistress's hodyT The squires were the most confidential officers of 
all others that slept in the court, they were of birth and alliance and were an 
appendage to a king, as being equal to a knight, they were his companions in 
hours of privacy and retirement, and were of great consequence ; they were stiled 
keepers of the king's person, but the principal, most essential, and most honour- 
able part of their duty was at night, as the esquires had the absolute command of 
the house above and below stairs ; this domestic ceremony was called the order of 
All-Night. — Steevens. 

See a manuscript in the Herald's Office, M. 7, entitled " The Services of 
Divers Officers of the Courte," one part of which was written in the time of King 
Henry VII. another in the 13th year of Henry YIII. — " As for the sqnyers for the 
hodg, they ought to aray the kyng and unaray, and no man else to sett hand on 
the kyng, and the yeman or grorae of the robes to take to the Squyer for the 
Body all the kyngs stuffe, as well his shone as his other gere ; and the Squyer for 
the Body to draw theym on ; and the Squyer for the Body aught to take the 
charge of the cupborde for all nyght; and if please the kyng to have a palett 
abowt his traverse for all night, there must be two Squyers for the Body, or ells 
one knyght for the body ; or els to lye in their owne chambers. And the usher 
must kepe the chamber dore untill the kyng be in bedd : and to be thereat on the 
morowe at the kyngs uprysyng : and the usher must see that the watche be sett, 
and to know of the kyng where they shall watche. Item, a Squyer for the Body 
or gentleman huisher owght to sett the kyngs sworde at his bedd hed. Item, a 
Squyer for the Body owght to charge a secret grome or page to have the kepyng 
of the said bedd, with a light until the tyme the kyng be disposed to go unto hit." 
At dinner, there was another office to be performed by the esquire ; for the 
ordinances of King Henry VII. tell us, that one of the esquires of the body is to 
be ready and obedient at dinner and supper, to serve the king of his pottage at 
such time as he shall be commanded by the sewer and gentleman usher. Though 
we have now left the king in his privy chamber, and in the hands of the servants 
of that department, yet we must not entirely dismiss the esquire ; for Sir H. 
Spelman says, that when the king went out, the office of esquire was to follow him 
and carry the cloak. Thus much for the office of the esquire of the body by day; 
but the principal, most essential, and most honourable part of his duty was at 



night; for when the king retired to bed, the esquire liad the concentrated power 
of the gentleman ushers, the vice chamberLiin, and lord chamberlain, in himself; 
having the absolute command of the house both above and below stairs. In the 
reign of King Henry VIII., and till the close of the last century, the royal apart- 
ments, from the bedchamber to the guard- chamber inclusively, were occupied in 
the night by one or more of the servants belonging to each chamber respectively. 
The principal officer, then the gentleman, now the lord of the hedchamher, slept in 
a pallet bed in the same room with the king ; and in the ante-room between the 
privy chamber and the bedchamber (in the reign of King Charles II. at least) 
slept the groom of the bedchamber. In the privy chamber next adjoining, slept 
two of the six gentlemen in the privy chamber in waiting ; and in the presence 
chamber, the esquire of the body on a pallet bed, upon the haut pas, under the 
cloth of estate; while one of i\\Q pages of the presence chamber slept in the same 
room, without the verge of the canopy, not far from the door. All these tem- 
porary beds were put up at night, and displaced in the morning, by the ofhcers of 
a particular branch of the wardrobe, called the wardrobe of beds. After supper, 
previous to the king's retiring to his bedchamber, the proper officers were to see 
all things furnished for the night, some for the king's bedchamber, and others for 
the king's cup-board, which was sometimes in the privy chamber, and sometimes 
in the presence chamber, at the royal pleasure, and furnished with refections for 
the king's refreshment, if called for. After this, the officers of the day retired, 
and committed all to the charge of the esquire of the body. — Malone. This 
domestic ceremony was called the order of All Night. The squires of the body 
are again noticed in the same manuscript, — " The Eorae and service belonging to 
a Page of the kyngs Chamber to doo. — Item, the said pageis at nyght, at season 
convenyent, must make the payletts for knyghts and squgers for the hodg, in 
suche a chamber, as they shalbe appoynted unto. — Item, the said pageis shall doo 
make redy the said knyghts and Sqiigers for the hodg, and here theyr gere to the 
kyngs great chamber at the instaunce of the said knyghts and squyers to their 
servaunts : And the said pageis to receive of the said knyghts and squyers ser vaunts 
such nyght gere as they shall delyver theyni for their said maistres. Thus don, 
the said pageis to make sure the fyers and lights in every chamber, and so to make 
their paylet at the chamber dore where the said knyghts and squyers do lye." 

Be called thieves of the dag^s heauty. 

Here Theobald shrewdly observes, that " they could not steal the fair day- 
light." He therefore substitutes hootg ; and takes the meaning to be, " let us not 
be call'd thieves, the purloiners of that hootg, which, to the proprietors, was the 
purchase of honest labour and industry by day." Steevens expounds the passage, 
" Let not us, who are body squires to the night, i. e., adorn the night, be called a 
disgrace to the day." To take away the beauty of the day, may probably mean, 
says he, to disgrace it. The editors have mistaken the sense here, by not attending 
to the signification of the preposition of, which in this, and numberless other 
places, and his contemporaries, is used for hg. The " day's beauty" is a metonymy 
for the sun : an appellation often given to royal personages. The meaning is, 
let not us, who are votaries of the night, be called thieves by the day. — 'Anon. 

Diana's foresters. 

Exile and slander are justly mee awarded. 
My wife and heire lacke lands and lawful right ; 
And me their lord made dame Diana's knight. 
So lamenteth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, in the Mirror for Magis- 
trates. AYe learn from Hall, that certain persons who appeared as foresters in a 


pageant exhibited in the reign of King Ilenvy VIII. were called Liana's JcnigJtis. 
— Malone. 

Oot icith swearing — lag bg. 

That is, got with swearing, ly by, &c. ; two sea terms, the first used when 
vessels come to the mouth of a shallow glutted harbour, and, the tide being gon 
out, they cannot get in, the sailors cry out with an oath, Ig hg ; that is, stop ; 
and when the tide comes in, they then cry, bring in ; which terms Prince Hall 
merrily applies to the thieves bidding a true man stop or stand upon the high 
way ; and to their crying out to the drawer, when o'er their cups, to bring in 
more liquor. — Anon. 

That is, swearing at the passengers they robbed, lag bg gour arms j or rather, 
lag bg was a phrase that then signified stand still, addressed to those who were 
preparing to rush forward ; but llanmer accommodates these old thieves with a 
new cant phrase, taken from Bagshot-heath or Eincliley-common, of lug out. — 

To lag bg, is a phrase adopted from navigation, and signifies, by slackening 
sail to become stationary. It occurs again in King Henry VIII. — 

Even the billows of the sea 
Hung their heads, and then lag bg. — Steevens. 

As the ridge of the gallons. 

The ridge of the gallows is observed in the 
specimen here engraved, the necessity of the 
use of a ladder, in one of this construction, being 
obvious. The gallows at Tyburn was formed 
exactly in this triangular fashion. 

Is not mg hostess of the tavern a 
most sweet wench / 

EalstafF, who is described as going from one 
tavern to another, does not here necessarily 
allude to Mrs. Quickly, but rather probably to the hostess of the inn they were 
then near, although, in the Famous Victories, a " pretty wench" in Eastcheap is 
alluded to, — " No, no : you know the old taverne in Eastcheape, there is good 
wine : besides there is a prety wrench that can talke well ; for I delight as much 
in their tongues, as any part about them." 

Mg old lad of the castle. 

" Yet never childe so delighted in his ratling baby, as some old Lads of the 
Castell have sported themselves with their rappinge bable," Harvey's Eoure 
Letters and Certaine Sonnets, 1593. Old lad is likewise a familiar compellation 
to be found in some of our most ancient dramatic pieces. So, in the Trial of 
Treasure, 1567 ; " What, Inclination, old lad, art thou there ?" In the dedication 
to Gabriel Harvey's Hunt is up, &c. by T. Nash, 1598, old Bich of the castle is 
mentioned. Again, in Pierce's Supererogation, or a New Praise of the Old Asse, 
1593 : " And here's a lusty ladd of the castell, that will binde beares, and ride 
golden asses to death." — Steevens. 

There is very little doubt but that there is, in the passage in the text, a 
quibble upon the name of Oldcastle, the original appellation of Ealstaff". This 
conjecture is supported by a passage in the play of Sir John Oldcastle, where 
there is a similar play upon words : — 

There's one, they call him Sir John Oldcastle. 

He has not his name for nought ; for like a castle 



Doth he encompass them within his walls. 
But till that castle be subverted quite, 
We ne'er shall be at quiet in the realm. 

The words, of Hyhla, are omitted in the first folio, a circumstance which gives 
rise to the following observations by an anonymous critic, — I restore, point, and 
explain thus : " As is the honey, my old lad, of the castle ;" that is, the sack, or 
sack and sugar, of the Castle tavern, in which these sparks so much delighted, 
especially Sir John Sack and Sugar, as Poins calls Ealstaff in the play. The 
occasion of the prince's giving such an answer was, the old thief being tired with 
his harangue on thieves, their way of living and end, to turn the discourse, he 
abruptly asks, in a humorous manner, " Is not my hostess of the tavern a most 
sweet wench?" To which the prince as humorously replies, "As is the honey, my 
old lad, of the Castle ;" the point of humour sure betwixt them, turning upon, my 
hostess of the tavern, and honey of the Castle. But this comparison, proper as it 
is, does not end the discourse ; for the prince, conscious to himself, took EalstaflP's 
question, " And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ?" to be a broad 
innuendo of Ealstaff's having lately caught him kissing her in a corner ; therefore, 
to be even with him, he asks EalstafiP, " And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe 
of durance ?" Giving him to understand, that he, or some of their comrades, had 
caught my landlady, or some young doxy, like Doll Tear-sheet, flogging the old 
letcher's bufp, by way of provocative ; and in that sense Ealstaff took the prince's 
question, as appears by his nettled answer ; " How, now ? How now, mad dog ? 
What in thy quips and thy quiddities ? What a plague have I to do with a buff 
jerkin ?" To which Hal replies, with another question, " Why, what a pox have I 
to do with my hostess of the tavern ? i. e. in plain English, Just as much as I have 
to do with my hostess of the tavern." To which I will only add, by way of 
closing this article, something pretty near similar : See what the Prince and Poins 
say in the second part of Henry IV. upon catching Doll Tear-sheet upon EalstaflP's 

Is not a-hiiff jerhin a most sweet role of durance? 

To understand the propriety of the Prince's answer, it must be remarked that 
the sheriflp's officers were formerly clad in buflF. So that when EalstaflF asks, whether 
" his hostess is not a sweet wench," the Prince asks in return whether, " it will 
not be a sweet thing to go. to prison by running in debt to this sweet wench." — 

The following passage from the old play of Ram- Alley, may serve to confirm 
Dr. Johnson's observation : — " Look, I have certain goblins in huff jerkins. Lye 
ambuscado. Enter Serjeants.'''' Again, in the Comedy of Errors, 
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him, 
A fellow all in hff. 

Hence a stuff of that colour made in imitation of it, and very strong, was 
called durance : — " Where didst thou buy this b?ff? let me not live but I will 
give thee a good suit of durance^ This is the address of a debtor to^the officer 
who had arrested him, in Westward Hoe : whence it seems that the- stuff durance 
was a new improvement, as a substitute for the buff leather. It appears that the 
leathern dresses worn by some of the lower orders of people, were first called of 
durance, or everlasting, from their great durability. — Nares. 

Again, in the Devil's Charter, 1607 : " Varlet of velvei^my moccado villaine, 
old heart of durance, my stript canvass shoulders, and my perpetuana pander." 
Again, in the Three Ladies of London, 1584: "As the taylor that out of seven 
yards, stole one and a half of durance.'" — Steevens. 

Sir William Cornwallys, in his Essayes, says : " I would have a jest never 




served above once ; when it is cold, the vigour and strength of it is gone. I 
refuse to wear biiJJ'e, for the kisting ; and shall I be content to apparrcll my braine 
in durance / By no means." Again, Sir John Davies, in his Epigrams : 

Kate being pleas'd, wisht that her pleasure could 
Endure as long as a hiijf'c- jerkin would. — Boswell. 

£ s. d. 

Durance, or "[with thred, tlie vard . . 00 06 08 
Duretty. J with silk, the yard . . . 00 10 00 

The Booh of Hates, ed. 1675, p. 35. 

The stuff called durance continued long in use. In a tailor's bill dated 1721 
is the following entry, — " for ten yards of fine durance, 13s. 4id" In another, 
dated 1723, we have, — " for sixteen yards of fine durance, £1 .. 1 .. 4." 

I 'pry-thee, sweet wag. 

This passage, and the next two speeches, were evidently suggested by the 
following speeches in the Famous Victories, — ''Henry. — Here's such ado now-a- 
days, here's prisoning, here's hanging, whipping, and the devil and all : but I tell 
you, sirs, when I am king we will have no sucli thing ; but, my lads, if the old 
king my father were dead, we would be all kings. — Oldcastle. — He is a good old 
man. God take him to his mercy the sooner. — Henry. — Eut, Ned, so soon as I 
am king, the first thing I will do shall be to put my lord chief justice out of office, 
and thou shalt be my lord chief justice of England. — Ned. Shall I be lord chief 
justice? By Gog's wounds, I'll be the bravest lord chief justice that ever was in 

Oh, rare ! 

As Caius walks the streets, if he but heare 
A black man grunt his note, he cries, oh rare ! 
He cries, oh rare ! to heare the Irishmen 
Cry pippe, fine pippe, with a shrill accent, when 
He comes at Mercer's chappell ; and oh rare ! 
At Ludgate at the prisoners plaine-song there : 
Oh rare ! sings he to heare a cobler sing. 
Or a wassaile on twelfe night, or the ring 
At cold S. Pancras church ; or any thing : 
He'le cry, oh rare f, and scratch the elbow too 
To see two butchers curres fight ; the cuckoo 
Will cry, oh rare I, to see the champion bull, 
Or the victorious mastife with crown'd skull : 
And garlanded with flowers, passing along 
From Paris-garden ; he renewes his song. 
To see my L. Maiors henchman ; or to see, 
At an old alderman's blest obsequie, 
The hospitall boyes in their blew a3quipage ; 
Or at a carted bawde, or whore in a cage ; 
He'le cry, oh rare ! at a gongfarmers cart. 

Oh rare ! to here a ballad 

Briefly so long he hath usde to cry, oh rare ! 
That now that phrase is grown thin and thred-bare, 
But sure his wit will be more rare and thin. 
If be continue as he doth begin. 

Skialetheia, or a SItadowe of Truth, 1598. 




For ohtaining of suits. 

Suit, spoken of one that attends at court, means a petition ; used with respect 
to the hangman, means the clothes of the offender. The same quibble occurs in 
Hoffman's Tragedy, 1631 : " A poor maiden, mistress, has a suit to you ; and 'tis 
a good suit, — -very good apparel." — Malonc. 

^'^ As melancJiohj as a gib-cat. 

A gib cat is a tnale cat, from Gilbert, the northern name for a he cat. Tom 
cat is now the usual term. Chaucer has gibbe our cat" in the Romaunt of the 
Rose, as a Translation of ' Thibert le chas.' Erom Thibert, Tib was also a common 
name for a cat. Bishop Percy, in his MS. list of Northamptonshire localisms, 
1744h, gives, ''gib-cat, a ram-cat, or he-cat;" remarking that, "as melancholy as 
a gib-cat is a common proverbial phrase in Northamptonshire, to this day." "As 
melancholy as a giFd cat,'' is a proverb enumerated among others in Bay's 
Collection. In A Match at Midnight, 1633, is the following passage : " and 
swell like a couple of gib'd cats, met both by chance in the dark in an old garret." 
So, in Bulwer's Artificial Changeling, 1653 : " Some in mania or melancholy 
madness have attempted the same, not without success, although they have 
remained somewhat melancholg lihe giVd cats.'" Sherwood, in his English 
Dictionary at the end of Cotgrave's Erench one, says : " Gibbe is an otd he cat," 
and Howell has, " a gibb, or old male cat," Lex. Tet. 1660. Coles has, " Gib, a 
contraction of Gilbert;'' and immediately 'after, " a Gib-cat, catus, felis mas." 
Wilkins, in his Index to the Philosophical Language, has "gib (male) cat." Gii 
was applied to any cat, whether male or female. So, in Gamer Gurton's Nedle : 
— " Gib (a fowle feind might on her light) lickt the milke pan so clene." Again, 
in the same play, — " hath no man stolen her ducks or hennes, or gelded Gyb her 
cat ?" — Steevens. 

So, in Edward the Eirst, by G. Peele : — " But goe, and. come with gossip's 
cheare, — E'er Gib our cat can lick her eare." Again, in the Scornful Lady : — 

** Bring out the cat-hounds. I'll make you take a tree, whore; then, with 

my tiller. Bring down your gibship." — Boswell. Or Drayton's Epistle from Elinor 
Cobham to Duke Humphrey : — " And call me beldam, gib, witch, nightmare, 

No sure, she will not ha' you ; why do you think that a waiting woman of 
three bastards, a strumpet nine times carted, or a hag whose eyes shoot poison, 
that has been an old witch, and is now turning into a gib-cat. — Marstons 
Parasitaster, 1606. 

As sure as can be, some gib'd cat that died issueless, has adopted thee for 
her heire, and bequeathed the legacy of her melancholy to thee. It is impossible 
thou should'st be so mad else. — Rey for Honesty, 1651. 

" Gybbe, owre gray catt," is mentioned in a poem in the Porkington 
Manuscript of the fifteenth century. " Before I will endure such another half-day 
with him, I'll be drawn with a good gib-cat through the great pond, as his uncle 
Hodge was," Jonson's Bartholomew Eair. " As melancholy as a gibb'd catt," 
Howell's English Proverbs, 1660, p. 10. 

But ill enough I'm sure — I wonder what I'm the better for a husband in you ! 
Here you sit moping, and moping all day upon a book, and at night, you're as 
sleepy as a gib'd cat. — Wilson's Cheats, 1664. 

Jealous ! Come up here ! You can be merry enough abroad, when you are 
amongst your flirts, but at home you're as sad and lumpish as a gibb'd cat : I can 
tell you the reason, — thou art sad because thou canst not bury me. — JFilsons 
Projectonrs, 1665. 


I had as live drink with a (/iliil cat : they are alwaies mewing and wauhng- 
about her inconstancy, cruelty, or one silly thing- or other. — BeUamira or the 
Mistress, 1G87. 

Another quality belonging to hini is thus ironically mentioned in the anony- 
mous play of the Politick Whore, 1G80; " as modest as a (//b-cat at midnight." 
— Douce. 

The melanclioty of a cat is sjjoken of generally in Lilly's Midas : " Fet. How 
now. Motto, all amort? Mot. 1 am as melaucholij as a cat.'' So, in Sydney's 
Arcadia, — " Tiie hare, her sleights ; the cat, his melancholy." Again, in the Man 
in the Moone, 1G09, — " Who is that ?" said Eido ; " One as melanclioVie as a cat" 
answered Mockso, " and glared upon me as if he would have looked through me : 
sure hee lacketh something, he gazeth so about him : holde not downe thine head 
for shame, like a beast ; but erect thy countenance, like a man." 

I, melancliolty as a cat. 

Am kept awake to weep, 
Eut she, insensible of that, 

Sound as a top can sleep. — Ballad. 

Or the drone of a Lincolnshire hagpipe. 

" Lincolnshire bagpipes" is a proverbial saying. Euller has not attempted to 
explain it ; and Eay only conjectures that the Lincolnshire people may be fonder 
of this instrument than others. — Bouce. In the Pleasaunt and Stately Morall 

of Three Lordes and Three Ladies of London, 
1590, there is mention of " The sweete ballade of 
the Lincolnshire Bagpipes." — Steevens. 

Lincolnshire hagpipes are thus mentioned in A 
Nest of Ninnies, by Eobert Armin, 1608 : " At a 
Christmas time, when great logs furnish the hall 
fire : when brawne is in season, and indeed all 
reveling is regarded : this gallant knight kept open 
house for all coramers, where beefe, beere, and 
bread was no niggard. Amongst all the pleasures 
provided, a noyse of Minstrells and a Lincolnshire bagpipe was prepared : the 

minstrells for the great chamber, 
the bagpipe for the hall ; the 
minstrels to serve up the knights 
meate, and the bagpipe for the 
common dauncing." This pas- 
sage also occurs in an earlier 
edition of the Nest of Ninnies, 
entitled, Eoole upon Foole, or 
Six Sortes of Sottes, 1605. There 
is no achronism in the mention 
of a bagpipe in the passage in the 
text. The above engraving of a 
bagpiper and a countrywoman is 
taken from a curious medieval 
ivory casket in the museum of 
Lord Londesborough. A wood- 
cut of a bagpiper of a later period, 
taken from an old English ballad, 
is given below. 

Sir Ore. Not so joyful neither. 




sir, when you shall know poor Gillian's dead, my little gray Mare, thou 
knew'st her, niun, Zoz, 't has made me as melancholy as the drone of a 
Lancashire bagpipe, hut let that pass, and now we talk of my mare, Zoz, I 
long to see this sister of thine. — Sir Patient Fancy, 1678. 

What say est tliou to a hare ? 

A hare may be considered as melancholy, because she is upon her form always 
solitary ; and, according to the physick of tlie times, the flesh of it was supposed 
to generate melancholy. — Johnson. 

The following passage in Vittoria Corombona, 1612, may prove the best 
explanation : " — ■ — like your melancholy hare, feed after midnight." Again, in 
Drayton's Polyolbion, song the second: — "The melancholy hare is form'd in 
brakes and briers." The Egyptians in their Hieroglyphics expressed a melan- 
choly man by a hare sitting in her form. See Pierii Hieroglyph, lib. xii. — Steevens. 

This was not quite forgotten in Swift's time. In his Polite Conversation, 
Lady Answerall, being asked to eat hare, replies, " No, Madam, they say 'tis 
melancholy meat." — Nares. 

Or the melancholy of Moor-ditch. 

The ground that has of late years been called Moorfields, together with the 
adjoining manor of Pinsbury, or Pensbury, extending as far as Hoxton, was in 
the fourteenth century one continued marsh, passable only by rude causeways here 
and there raised upon it. Moorfields, in the time of Edward the Second, let but 
for four marks per annum, a sum then equal in value to six pounds sterling. In 
1414, a postern gate, called Moorgate, was opened in London Wall, by Sir 
Thomas Pauconer, mayor, affording freer access to the city for such as crossed the 
Moor ; and water-courses from it were begun. In 1511, regular dikes, and 
bridges of communication over them, were made for more effectually draining this 
fenny tract, during the mayoralty of Eobert Atchely ; which draining was 
gradually proceeded on for about a century, till, in Shakespeare's day, it would 
appear that the waters were collected in one great ditch. In 1614, it was to a 
certain degree levelled, and laid out into walks. In 1732, or between that and 1740, 
its level was perfected, and the walks planted with elms. After this, the spot was 
for years neglected, and Moorfields became an assemblage of petty shops, 
particularly booksellers, and of ironmongers' stalls ; till, in the year 1790, the 
handsome square of Pinsbury corapleated arose upon its site. — Nott. 

To this ditch Decker alludes : — Though to purge it will be a sorer labour 
than the cleansing of Augeas' stable, or the scouring of Moor-ditch^ Gul's 

'Twill be at Moorgate, beldam; where I shall see thee in the ditch, dancing 
in a cucking-stool. — W. Boideys New Wonder. 

As touching the river, looke how Moor-ditch shews when the water is three 
quarters dreyn'd out, and by reason the stomacke of it is overladen, is ready to 
fall to casting. So does that ; it stinks almost worse, is almost as poysonous, 
altogether so muddy, altogether so black. — Bechers Newes from Ilell, 1606. 

lie bring the Tems through the middle of it (the City), empty Moore-ditch at 
my owne charge, and build up Paules-steeple without a collection. — JSohody and 
Somebody, with the Historie of Ely dure, n. d. 

So talke they of your citty's great infectour, 
Old More-Ditch, and condemne the works directour, 
That More-Ditch is not lesse ditch, or more water. 
To cleanse the filth of those that catle slauo-hter. 

Wroth' s Abortive of an Idle Honre, 1620. 
IX. 37 



ITe pretends the cure of madmen, and sure he gets most by tliem, for no man 
in liis perfect wits would meddle with him. Lastly, he is such a jugler with 
urinals, so dangerously unskilful, that if ever the city will have recourse to him, 
for diseases that need purgation, let them employ him in scouring Moor-ditch. — 
Ocerhurji Characters. 

"Walking thus downe the street, my body being tyred with travell, and my 
minde attyred with moody, muddy, Moore-ditch melancliolty , my contemplation 
did devoutly pray, that I might meete one or other to prey upon, being willing to 
take any slender acquaintance of any man whatsoever, viewing, and circumviewing 
every mans face I met, as if I meant to drawe his picture, but all my acquaintance 
was i\ est inventus ; pardon me, reader, that Latine is none of mine owne, I 
sweare by Priscian's Paricranion, an oath which I have ignorantly broken many 
times. — Taylor s Penilesse Pitgrimage^ 1618. 

It is ordayned also that the smell of Sir Ajax breath against rainy weather, 
and the sent of More-ditch in Summer, shall be very distastefuU to Time's nose. — 
A Description of Time ^ 1G38. 

The most comparative. 

Hanmer, and "Warburton after him, read incomparative, I suppose for incom- 
pardble, or peerless ; but comparative here means quich at comparisons, or fruitful 
in similes, and is properly introduced. — Johnson. 

This epithet is used again in this play, and apparently in the same sense, and 
in Love's Labour's Lost, Eosalind tells Biron that he is a man " Pull of com- 
parisons and wounding flouts." — Steevens. 

A commodity of good names. 
So, in the Discoverie of the Knights of the Poste, 1597, sign. C: "In troth 
they live so so, and it were well if they knew where a commoditie of names were to 
he sonld, and yet I thinke all the money in their purses could not buy it." — 

For icisdom cries out in the streets. 
This is a scriptural expression: IFisdom crieth without; she uttereth her 
voice in the streets. — 1 have stretched out my hand, and no man regarded," 
Proverbs, i. 20, and 24. See also Proverbs, cap. 8. These words are left out in 
the folio, probably on account of the statute of James. In the Dering manuscript 
this speech is written as follows, — " Thow didst well, but if thow hadst preferd hime 
to a pulpett thow hadst done better." This variation is of course of no authority, 
but it is not one of the later alterations ; and if we joined the two passages good 
sense would result, e. g., " Thou didst well ; but if thou hadst preferr'd him to a 
pulpit, thou hadst done better, for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man 
regards it." The conclusion of the preceding speech seems to give some warrant 
to this reading. 

0, thou hast damnahle iteration. 
Por //m/^/o;?, Hanmer and "Warburton read — attraction, of which the meaning 
is certainly more apparent ; but an editor is not always to change what he does 
not understand. In the last speech a text is very indecently and abusively 
applied, to which Palstaflf answers, " thou hast damnable iteration^'' or a wicked 
trick of repeating and applying holy texts. This, I think, is the meaning. — 

Iteration, is right, for it also signified simjDly citation or recitation. So, in 
Marlow's Doctor Paustus, 1631 : 

Here take this book, and peruse it well, 
The iterating of these lines brings gold. 



Erom the context, iterating here appears to mean pronouncing, reciting. 
Again, in Camden's Eemaines, 1614 : " King Edward I. disliking the iteration of 
Eitz," kc.—Malone. 

Iteration, repetition, not mere citation, as some have thought. Ealstaff does not 
complain only of Hal's quoting a scriptural text, but that he has been retorting 
and disiox\ATig the meaning of his words throughout the scene. Eor example, 
Ealstaff talks of the sun and moon — the Prince retorts with the sea and moon ; 
Ealstaff uses hanging in one sense — the Prince in another; so judging ; and so 
in the passage whicli at last provokes Ealstaff's complaint. — Knight. 

' Tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation. 

It has been suggested, with slight probability, that there is here a sneer at a 
work by Egremont Eatcliffe entitled, — '* Politick Discourses, treating of the 
differences and inequalities of vocations as well publick as private ; with the scopes 
and ends whereunto they are directed," 4to. 1578. Erom the beginning to the 
end of this work, the word vocation occurs in almost every paragraph. Thus 
chapter i : — " That the vocation of men hath been a thing unknown unto philo- 
sophers, and other that have treated of Politique Government ; of the commoditie 
that Cometh by the knowledge thereof ; and the etymology and definition of this 
worde vocation.'' Again chap, xxv : — " Whether a man leing disorderly and 
nnduely entered into any vocation, may lawfully hrooTce and abide in the same ; 
and whether the administration in the meane while done by him that is unduely 
entered, ought to holde, or be of force." 

If Gadshill have set a match. 

The folio reads — have set a icatch — which is, perhaps, right. The same 
expression occurs in A New Trick to cheat the Devil, by Davenport, 1639 : — 
" My tvatch is set — charge given — and all at peace." In a subsequent scene, 
when Gadshill enters, Poins says, " 0 His our setter ;" i. e., he whose business it 
was to set a watch, to observe what passengers should go by. That a toatch was 
set on those whom they intended to rob, appears from what Poins says afterwards : 
" Ealstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already 
way-laid — ." The error in the first quarto, which was followed by the others, 
might have arisen from a w being used by the compositor instead of an m, a 
mistake that sometimes happens at the press. In the hand- writing of our author's 
time, the two letters are scarcely distinguishable. In support, however, of the 
reading of the quartos, the following passage in Bartholomew Pair, by Ben 
Jonson, 1614, may be alleged: " Peace, sir; they'll be angry if they hear you 
eaves-dropping, now they are setting their match."" Here the phrase seems to 
mean, making an appointment. — Malone. 

As no watch is afterwards set, I suppose match to be the true reading. So, as 
Dr. Earmer observed, in Eatsey's (Gamahel) Ghost, about 1605 : " I have, says he, 
been many times beholding to tapsters and chamberlaines for directions and 
setting of matches." — Steevens. 

Steevens says, " As no watch is afterwards set, I suppose match is the true 
reading." To "set a match" appears, from a passage in Ben Jonson, to be to 
" make an appointment." But Gadshill, it seems to us, was in communication 
with the chamberlain of the Eochester inn ; and this chamberlain, who was to 
have a share in the " purchase," was the watch or spy that Gadshill had set. 
When Gadshill meets Ealstaff and Poins he is received with, " 0, 't is our setter:' 
— Knight. 




What says Sir John Sack-md-Sngar ? 

The habit of taking sugar with wine was very common in the sixteenth and seven- 
tecntli centuries. There are numerous allusions to this custom in tlie records of the 
town of Stratford-on-Avon, — " Payd for a pottel of clarctt, and pottel of sackeand 
half a pound of suger to my lords officers at the Lyght (Leet), iii.v. \\d.^' Account of 
Eicliard Courte from Mich. 1582, to Mich. 1583. Again, in the account for the year 
1585 ; — " Paide for one gallant of clarett wine sent to my Lords officers when they 
kept the Lete, ijs. — One pottle of sacke, xvi(/. — Sugar halfe a lb. ix<:/. — Paide for 
wine sent to my Lo. his officers at the Lete after Michaelmas, one pottle of sacke, 
xvif?. — One pottle of claret wyne, xii^/. — Sugar halfe a lb. ixf/." In the account 
for 15SG : — " Paid for ij. quarts of clarett W7ne and a quart of sack at the Lete in 
April, ijs. y'\d. — Paid for half a pound of sugar, y'vixd. — Paid to Mr. BailifPe for 
wine and sugar that he gave to my Lo. his (my Lord's) Steward, ijs. ij^/," In the 
account for 1587 : — " Item for wyne and sugar bestowed upon my Lord of Warr. 
hys Steward at the two Letes, iiijs. uV Again, in 1588: — "It. for wyne and 
sugar the 21 of April bestowed on the Steward of the Lete, xvi^?. — It. for wyne 
and sugar bestowed upon hym at the Lete in October, 1588, xxiic/." In a Letter 
describing Queen Elizabeth's entertainment at Killingworth castle, 1575, the 
writer says, " sipt I no more sack and sugar than I do malmzey, I should not 
blush so much a dayz as I doo." And in another place, describing a minstrel, 
who, being somewhat irascible, had been offended at the company, he adds : 
" at last, by sum entreaty, and many fair woords, with sack and sugar, we sweeten 
him again." 

In an old MS. book of the chamberlain's account belonging to the city of 
AVorcester, I find the following article, which points out the origin of our word 
sack (Fr. sec.) viz. " — Anno Eliz. xxxiiij. (1592) Item, Por a gallon of clarett 
wyne, and seek, and a pound of sugar, geven to sir John Russell iiij.s." — 

Hentzner, in 1598, speaking of the manners of the English, says, in potum 
copiosi hnmittunt saccarum, they put a great deal of sugar in their drink ; and 
Moryson in his Itlnerartj, 1617, p. 155, mentioning the Scots, observes, " They 
drinke pure wines, not with sugar as the English;''' again, p. 152, " — but 
gentlemen garrawse onely in wine, with which many mixe sugar, which I never 
observed in any other place or kingdome, to be used for that purpose : and 
because the taste of the English is thus delighted with sweetnesse, the wines in 
tavernes (for I speake not of merchants or gentlemen's cellars) are commonly 
mixed at the filling tliereof to make them pleasant," — Reed. 

"I use not to be drunk with sack and sugar," Northward Hoe, 1G07. "All 
coller was washed downe with wine and sugar ; the gossip cups went about, and 
so long drunke cumater to cumater, till there was not a cumater could hold her 
eyes ope," Law of Drinking, 1G17, p. IIG. 

When signeur Sacke and Suger drinke dround reeles, 
He vowes to heaw the spurs from fellows heeles 
When calling for a quart of Charnico, 
Into a loving league they present grow. 

The Letting of Humors Blood in the Head-Vaine, 1611. 

Some affect to drinke sack with sugar, and some without, and upon no other 
ground, as I think, but that, as it is best pleasing to their pallats. I will speak 
Avhat I deeme thereof, and I think I shall well satisfie such as are judicious. Sack, 
taken by itselfe, is very hot, and very penetrative ; being taken with sugar, the 
heat is both somewhat allayed, and the penetrative quality thereof also retardated. 



Wherefore let this be the conclusion : sack taken by itselfe, without any mixture 
of sugar, is best for them that have cold stomacks, and subject to the obstructions 
of it, and of the mesaraick veines. But for them that are free from such obstruc- 
tions, and feare lest that the drinking of sack, by reason of the penetrative faculty 
of it, might distemper the liver, it is best to drink it with sugar, and so I leave 
every man that understandeth his owne state of body, to be liis own director 
herein. But what I have spoken of mixing sugar with sack, must be understood 
of sherie-sack, for to mix sugar with other wines, that in a common appellation 
are called sack, and are sweeter in taste, makes it unpleasant to the pallat, and 
fulsome to the stomack. — ■ Venuers Via Recta ad Longam Vitaui, 1637. 

Sack-and-sugar is the name of one of the imps mentioned in Hopkins' Dis- 
covery of Witches, 1647. This imp appeared in the likeness of a black rabbit, 
which appears in the frontispiece of that curious tract with the name " Sacke and 
Susfar" inscribed over it. 

Nothing will open his heart but good sack and sugar, or sweet metheglin, or 
else a brace of steaming capons, with all the accoutrements. — The Factious Citizen, 
or the Melancholy Visioner, 1685. 

Fob, wine and women good apart, together as nauseous as sack and sugar ; 
but hark you, sir, before you go, a little of your advice, an old maim'd general, 
when unfit for action is fittest for counsel ; 1 have other designs upon women than 
eating and drinking with them. — The Country Wife, 1675. 

*^ Early at Gadshill. 

Gadshill is on the road between Gravesend and Rochester, near the villages of 
Higham and Chalk. It is on the old road from London to Bochester and 
Canterbury, which road bends to the left after leaving Dartford, and is perhaps the 
same one that Chaucer's pilgrims took. Shakespeare evidently infers that it was 
the traditional road-way of the Canterbury pilgrims. Gadshill was distinguished 
at a very early period by the perpetration of robberies. A ballad entitled " the 
Bobery at Gads-hill" was entered on the books of the Stationers' Company in 
1558 ; and the locality is also named in the Famous Victories, whence it was 
adopted by Shakespeare. A very curious account of Gadshill robberies in 1589 is 
contained in a paper by Sir Boger Manwood, in the Lansdowne manuscripts, in 
which he states, — " In October, at bcginninge of last Mychaelmas Terme iii, or iiij. 
robberyes done at Gadeshill by certen ffoote theves, uppon hughe and crye, one of 
the theves named Zachfeild flying and squatted in a bushe was brought to me, and 
uppon examynacion fyndinge a purse and things about him suspiciouse, and his 
cause of being there and his flyinge and other circumstances very suspiciouse, I 
commytted him to the jayle, and he ys of that robberye indyted. In the course 
of that Mychaelmas Terme, I being at London, many robberyes weare done in the 
hye-wayes at Gadeshill on the west parte of Bochester, and at Chatliam-downe on 
the East parte of Bochester, by horse theves, with suche fatt and lustye horses as 
weare not lyke hackney horsses nor farr jorneyng horsses, and one of them some- 
tyme wearing a vizarde greye bearde, by reason that to the persons robbed the 
theves did use to mynister an othe that there should bee no liue and crye made 
after, and also did gyve a watche-woorde for the parties robbed, the better to 
escape other of their theves companye devyded uppon the hyghe waye, he was by 
common report in the contry called Justice Greye-Bearde ; and no man durst 
travell that waye without great companye. After thend of that Mychaelmas 
terme, iij. or iiij. gentlemen from London, rydinge home towards Canterburye, at 
the West end of Gadeshill, we are overtaken by v. or vj. horsemen all in clokes 
upp about their faces, and fellowe like all, and none lyke servants or waytinge on 
thother, and swiftly ridinge by them gat to the East end of Gadeshill, and there 



turned about all their horsses on the faces of the trewe men, wherby they became 
in feare ; but by chanse one of the trewe men did knowe this Curtail to bee 
one of the v. or vj. swift rydcrs, and after some speache betwene them of the 
manyfold robberyes there done and that by company of this Curtail that gentleman 
hoped to have the more saffetye from robbing-, this Curtail, with the other v. or vj. 
swifte ryders, rode awaye to Rochester before, and the trewe men coming 
afterwards ncere Rochester they did mete this Curtail retorning on horsebacke, 
rydinge towards Gadeshill againe. And after they had passed Rochester, in 
Cliatham-streete, at a smyths fordge they did see the reste of the swyft ryders 
tarying about shoing of some of their horsses, and then the trewe men doubted 
to be set uppon at Chatham downe, but their company being the greater they 
passed without troble to Sittingborne that nighte, when they harde of robberyes 
daylye done at Chatham-downe and Gadeshill, and that this Curtail with v. or vj. 
other as lustye companyons, and well horssed, muche haunted the innes and 
typlinge bowses at Raynham, Sittingborne, and Rochester, with liberall expences. 
Afterwards at a howse wlieare payment of monye was made, and by chance uppon 
the monye pooringe out, one testerne fell from the lieape, and whiles the partie 
was busye in telling the lieape, this Curtail, being in companye, toke awaye that 
testerne, and being in talke with one of his acquaintance, who sayde he marvelled 
to see Curtail in so good estate for apparell and horsse and other mayntenance, 
Curtciil sayde that he spent c. //. by yeare : thother asking him liowe he came by so 
muche lyvinge. Curtail answered that he dyd serve no man, but lyved of himselfe, 
but, nowe and then, when yt pleased him, he had entertaynment at the howse of 
his good Captaine Sir Edward Hobby, and in the course of that winter nere 
Chatham downe, within a myle or ij. of Sir Edward Hobbyes howse weare manye 
robberyes done, uppon one Gason, one Chapman, one Manser, and many others, 
but no discoverye of the malefactors." This MS. is dated, July, 1590. 

Afterwards His Highness rode back again to Gravesend (from Rochester), 
the night being as dark as pitch, and the wind high and boisterous, where he slept 
that night. On the road, how^ever, an Englishman came upon us unawares, with 
a drawn swwd in his hand, and ran after us as fast as he could ; perhaps he 
expected to find other persons, for it is very probable that he had an ambush, as 
that particular part of the road is not the most safe. — Travels of Frederich, Diike 
of Wirtemberg, in JEngland, in 1592. 

Troth, as the way lies over Gads-hill, very dangerous ; you would pity a 
woman's case, if you saw her. — JFestioard Hoe, 1607. 

This place is mentioned more than once in Rowlands' Knave of Clubbs, 
1611, and the following epigram, therein contained, may be worth quoting, — 

At Gads-hill late, where men are theevish-crost, 

An honest friend his purse with ten pounds lost. 

And as the villain es were new gone away. 

Three horsemen came, to whome the man did say : — • 

Oh gentlemen ! most happy all you be. 

To scape two theeves, even now have robbed me ; 

'Twas great good fortune- that 'till now you staid. 

Kay, friend, quod they, thou art deceived, they said, 

The theeves were happy as the matter stands, 

Eor, by our stay, they have escaped our hands. 

In 1684, was published, — A Recantation of an 111 Led Life, or a Discoverie 
of the High "Way Law, with vehement Disswasions to all (in that kind) oflPenders 
as also many cautelous Admonitions and full Instructions how to know, shunne, 
and apprehend a Thiefe. Most necessary for all honest Travellers to peruse. 



observe, and practise. Written by John Clavell, Gent. London, Printed by A. 
M. for Richard Meighen, next to the Middle Temple in Eleete street. 1634. In 
this curious poetical tract, the author professes to discover all the villanies of his 
craft, that of a highwayman. His first depredations were on Gad's-hill : — 

For though I oft have scene Gadd's-Jiill, and those 
Red tops of mountaines, where good people lose. 
Their ill kept purses, I did never climbe 
Pernassus Hill, or could adventure time. 

Taylor, the "Water-poet, classes Gad's-hill with Shooter's-hill, another hill in 
Kent, also celebrated for robberies, — " to mount his fame past Gads or Shooters- 

In a MS. of the seventeenth century, is " a letter from one of them that robb'd 
the Danish ambassadour on Gads-hill, 1656, sent to him the day after," as follows, 
— " Sir, the lame necessity that enforc't the Tartars to breake the walls of China 
compell'd us to wayte on you att Gads-Hill. I hope you will not thinke the 
name of theife and gentleman incompatible, nor that it is ignoble to robbe a 
viceroy there, where the best of our kings deign'd to robb a carryer; and now I 
speake of thinges noble, I thinke it is soe to keepe my word, onely I must begge 
your pardon in two thinges, first, that I sent you the enclosed noe sooner ; next, 
that I subscribe not my name otherwise then. Sir, Your very humble Servant, — 
Tamberlaine." De Foe, in his Tour thro' the whole Island of Great Britain, 
1734, speaks of Gad's Hill as "a noted place for robbing of seamen after they 
have receiv'd their pay at Chatham ;" and he gives a curious, but apparently 
somewhat apochryphal, story of a famous robbery committed there in the reign of 
Charles II. 

Traders riding to London imtli fat purses. 
The annexed engraving represents two ancient purses. It is worthy of remark 

that, in the early account of the robbery at Gadshill, 1590, just quoted, the 
robbers were mounted, and wore visors. 

^ Hear me, Yedicard. 
Yedward is a familiar corruption of Edward, still retained in Cheshire and 
Lancashire. Towards the end of the first act of Shadwell's Lancashire Witches, 
Clod, who speaks in the Lancashire dialect, uses Yedard for Edward; — " T)oi(ht. 
Whose house is that?— C/of/. Why, what a pox, where han yeow lived? why, 
yeow are strongers indeed ! Why, 'tis Sir Yedard Hartfort's," kc—Bi/ce. Again, 
in the third act,— "by the mass, I saw you in SirYedard's cellar last neeght with 
your haggs." 



Chad not tlioiiglit you l)ad been zickc a voole, Mr. Yedward, as if I were not 
suflicient to bring a million niyzcll. — inilsliire Turn, 1673. 

If thou darest not stand for (en shillings. 

Such was the value of the coin called a royal, the word upon which FalstafT 
I)lays, when he says to the Prince, " nor thou cam'st not of the blood royair 
There is a double quibble, stand for meaning both, to be worth and to contend 
for. A modern alteration, cry stand, injures the sense of the original. 

Fareiccll, ylll-halloicn suumer ! 

That is, a late summer. All-It allmcs is All-saints, which festival is the first 
of November. Tiie Erencli have a proverbial phrase of the same import for a 
late summer. * Este de St. Martin^ Martlemas summer. There is still a church 
in London, which is absurdly styled St. All-Jialloios, as if a word which was 
formed to express the community of saints, could be appropriated to any 
particular one of the number. In the Play of the Four P's, 1569, this mistake is 
pleasantly exijosed : — 

Fard. Friends, here you shall see, even anone. 

Of All-hallows the blessed jaw-bone. 

Kiss it hardly, with good devotion : &c. — Steevens. 

*® Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and GadsMll. 

In former editions, FalstaflF, Harvey, Bossil, and Gadshill. Thus have we two 
persons named, as characters in this play, that were never among the dramatis 
personse. But let us see who they were that committed this robbery. In the 
second Act we come to a scene of the highway. FalstafF, wanting his horse, calls 
out on Hal, Poins, Bardolph, and Peto. Presently Gadshill joins them, with 
intelligence of travellers being at hand; upon which the Prince says, — "You four 
shall front 'em in a narrow lane, Ned Poins and I will walk lower." So that 
the four to be concerned are FalstaflP, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill. Accordingly, the 
robbery is committed ; and tlie Prince and Poins afterwards rob them four. In 
the Boar's-Head tavern, the Prince rallies Peto and Bardolph for their running 
away, who confess the charge. Is it not plain now that Bardolph and Peto were 
two of the four robbers ; and who then can doubt, but Harvey and Eossil were 
the names of the actors ? — Theobald. 

In all the old copies, ITarvey and Bossill are put for Bardolph and Peto : 
perhaps these were the names of the actors of the parts, though we do not meet 
with them in any list of the company. It is possible that Harvey and Bossill 
were names by which Peto and Bardolph were called in the play as it originally 
stood, before Oldcastle was changed to Falstaff. At all events, the robbery was 
committed by Bardolph and Peto, and their names ought to be inserted in the 
text. — Collier. 

For the nonce. 

For the nonce signified for the parpose, for the occasion, for the once. It is 
nothing more than a slight variation of the A.-S. 'for then anes' — 'for then anis' 
— ' for then ones, or once.' Similar inattention to this form of the prepositive 
article has produced the phrases ' at the nale,' 'at the nend;' which have been 
transformed from ' at than ale,' ' at than end.' — Singer. 

The expression " for the once" is sometimes found : " In Dengy Hundred, 
neare to Maldon, about the beginning of his Maiesties reigne, there fell out 
an extraordinary iudgement vpon five or sixe that plotted a solemne drinking at 
one of their houses, laid in Beare for the once, drunke healths in a strange manner, 




and died therof witliin a few weekes, some sooner, and some later," Woe to 
Drunkards (a Sermon by S. Ward), 1633, p. 27. — Bijce. 

This same fat rogue. 

" His post-like legges were answerable to the rest of the great frame which they 
supported, and to conclude. Sir Bevis, Ascapart, Gogmagog, or our English Sir 
John FalstafF, were but shrimpes to 
this bezzeling bombard's longitude, 
latitude, altitude, and crassitude, 

for hee passes and surpasses the ^ i A ^ ' ^ t, / 

whole Germane multitude," Taylor's ^OV^ ^^^/^^ ^ M 
Three Weekes, three daies, and 
three houres Observations and 
Travel from London to Hamburgh, 

1617. "Drink off thy sack, — 'twas onely that, made Bacchus and Jack Pallstaff 
fat," Playford's Catch that Catch Can, 1667. Dryden, writing in 1684, excuses an 
author's first attempt by observing that " no man can be Falstalf fat at first." 
EalstaflP, says the same writer, " is the best of comic characters ;" and all of us 
remember the celebrated line of the Duke of Buckingham, — " but Falstaff seems 
inimitable yet." It has been conjectured that Heminges occasionally performed 
this character. 


The old editions read, to-morroio night, but I think we should read — to-night. 
The disguises were to be provided for the purpose of the robbery, which was to be 
committed at four in the morning ; and they would come too late if the Prince was 
not to receive them till the night after the day of the exploit. — Steevens. 

Yet herein ivill I imitate the sun. 

It is curious that a similar imagery should have been adopted, in speaking of 
the prince, by a contemporary chronicler. Elraham, after noticing his youthful 
follies, thus proceeds, — " If these things here introduced among others, should be 
thought worthy of perusal and of a place in history, it depends upon the judgment 
of discreet readers to give them place or not. If not, such cloudy passages may 
well be buried in obscurity and silence. But the author's reason for alluding to 
them, is in order to aflPord matter of rejoicing to those who shall read what is to 
come, by presenting the sudden change of night into day, of a cloud into clear sky, 
of an eclipse into perfect splendour, of darkness into light. Lo, the time is at 
hand, when, upon the vanishing of a cloud, the solar rays will dart forth," — &c. 
Walsingham speaks in a similar strain, — " On which day (April 9th, his coro- 
nation,) was a heavy fall of snow, so severe as to astonish everybody ; some men's 
minds connecting the storm with the new king's reign, as if it stamped a mark of 
coldness and severity upon his life and government. But others judged more 
mildly of the king, and interpreted this unseasonable weather to be a happy omen ; 
as if he would cause the snow and frost of vices to fall away in his reign, and the 
serene fruit of virtues to spring up. That it might be truly said by his .subjects, 
" Lo, the Winter is past, the rain is over and gone." Who indeed as soon as he 
was invested with the ensigns of royalty was suddenly changed into a new man ; 
behaving with propriety, modesty, and gravity, and shewing a desire to practise 
every kind of virtue. Whose manners and conduct were exemplary to all ranks 
both of Clergy and Laity." 

Bg so much shall I falsifg men's hopes. 
To falsifg hope is to exceed hope, to give much where men hoped for little. This 



speccli is very artfully introduced to keep the Prince from appearing vile in the 
opinion of the audience ; it prepares them for his future reformation ; and, what is 
yet more valuable, exhibits a natural picture of a great mind offering excuses to 
itself, and palliating those follies which it can neither justify nor forsake. — 

Hopes is used simply for expectations, as sitccess is for the event, whether good or 
bad. This is still common in the midland counties. *' Such manner of uncouth 
speech," says Puttenham, " did the Tanner of Tamworth use to King Edward IV., 
which tanner having a great while mistaken him, and used very broad talke with 
him, at length perceiving by his traine that it was tlic king, was afraide he should 
be punished for it, and said thus, with a certain rude repentance : ' I Jiope I shall 
be hanged to-morrow,' for ' I fear me I shall be hanged ;' whereat the king laughed 
a-good ; not only to see the tanner's vaine feare, but also to hear his misshapen 
terme ; and gave him for recompence of his good sport, the inheritance of Plumton 
Parke." — Farmer. 

The following passage in the Second Part of King Henry IV. fully supports 
Dr. Parmer's interpretation. The Prince is there, as in the passage before us, the 
speaker : 

My father is gone wild into his grave — 
And with his spirit sadly I survive. 
To moch the expectations of the world ; 
To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out 
llotten opinion, who hath written down 
After my seeming. — Malone. 


Henry, eldest son of Henry Percy, by Mary daughter of Henry Earl of 
Lancaster, married, in 32 Edw. III., Margaret daughter of Ralph Lord Nevil, by 
whom he had three sons, Henry surnamed Hotspur, Thomas, and Kalph. His second 
marriage with Maude, sister and heiress of Anthony Lord Lucy, and widow of the 
Earl of Angus, was without issue. The following notices respecting this veteran 
negociator and warrior w^ll convey some idea of the manner in which his public 
life was spent. In 33 and 37 Edw. III. he bore arms in France. In 43 
Edw. III. his father died, when he was twenty-six years of age ; and he did homage, 
and had livery of his lands. In that year he was with the king in Calais, when 
the peace was made with France, and was sent to the relief of the marches of 
Poitou with three hundred men at arms, and a thousand archers. In 43 Edw. III., 
in the war in France, his retinue consisted of fifty nine men at arms, twelve nights 
forty seven squires, and a hundred archers on horseback. In 46 Edw. III., he 
accompanied the king towards France to the relief of Thouars ; when they were 
driven back by contrary winds, after nine weeks tossing at sea. In 47 Edw. III., 
he purchased, for 7G0 pounds, the custody of the castle of Mitfordin Northumber- 
land, with all the lands, during tlie minority of the Earl of Athol; and attended 
the king into Flanders. In 50 Edw. III., he was Marshal of England, and went 
officially to inspect the towns and castles of Calais, and the marches thereof. In 
51 Edw. III., he was General of the forces sent to France ; his retinue a hundred 
men at arms, and as many archers, with a ready supply of two hundred men at arms 
and two hundred archers all mounted. He appeared now as a protector of TVyclifiP 
to whom he shewed much respect at the conference with the bishops before the 
Duke of Lancaster in St. Paul's Cathedral ; and with difficulty avoided the fury 
of the populace, who rose on the part of the Bishop of London, and would have 
put him and the duke to death, had they not escaped in a boat over tlie Thames 
to Kennington. At the coronation of Richard IL, he acted as Marshal of England, 



and was advanced to the dignity and title of Earl of Northumberland. Shortly 
after he resigned his Marshal's rod, and went into Scotland against the Earl of 
Dunbar at the head of ten thousand men, and wasted his lands. In 2 Rich. IL, he 
entered that country again, with the Earl of Nottingham, and took Berwick. In 4i 
Rich. IL, the Scots invaded Cumberland and Westmorland ; but he was stopped in 
his preparations to advance against them by the king's letters. In 5 Rich. II., a 
dispute arose between liim and John of Gaunt, which had nearly proved fatal to 
him. As commissioner for guarding the marches, with special care of the castles 
and garrisons, he had appointed Sir Matthew Redman his lieutenant at Berwick. 
Redman, acting strictly up to his trust, refused to admit the Duke of Lancaster 
into the place, on his return from Scotland. In the same manner he was shut out 
at Bamborough castle ; though his provisions were stored in both places ; and his 
family had taken refuge in the latter fortress. The Duke complained of this treat- 
ment in the presence of the king, at a meeting of the nobles at Berkhamstead, 
and taxed Northumberland with ingratitude, unfaithfulness, and disobedience; 
upon which the earl became furious, and used such reproachful language, that the 
king, who had in vain commanded him to be silent, ordered him to be arrested : 
but, the Earls of Warwick and Suffolk undertaking for his appearance at the next 
parliament, lie was set at liberty. Lancaster and Northumberland both attended 
the next parliament with large bodies of armed men, to the terrourofthe citizens; 
and complaint was made of it to the king, who decided the quarrel, and reconciled 
them for the time. In 7 Rich. IL, he chastised tiie Scots, who had made 
an incursion upon Northumberland, and had seized Berwick through the treachery 
of the Heutenant governor. This furnished a fit occasion for the Duke of 
Lancaster, who was intent upon humbling him, to accuse him in parliament, and 
obtain sentence of death and confiscation against him ; but the king set aside the 
judgment, and Northumberland repaired the accident by recovering Berwick. In 
the same year, he was of the commission for receiving the residue of ransom due 
for David King of Scotland ; Sheriff of Northumberland with the custody of the 
castle of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and retained to serve the king in the Scotch war 
for forty days. About this time he acquired a great accession of landed property 
by his second marriage. In 9 Rich. IL, he was again Sheriff of the same county ; 
in 10 and II Rich. IL, Embassador in Scotland; in 13 Rich. IL, Commissioner 
to treat of peace with Erance and Elanders; but in ] 4 Rich. IL, recalled to guard 
the borders. In 19 Rich. IL, he was present at the interview between the Kings 
of England and Erance at Guisnes, and was one of the English Lords who 
attended Charles VI. to his pavilion. In 21 Rich. IL, in consequence of some 
expressions used by his eldest son Hotspur, derogatory to Richard IL, he was 
summoned from the north, but refused to make his appearance ; for which, 
Eroissart informs us, he was banished. As he was preparing to retire into Scotland, 
the king passed over into Ireland. Henry of Lancaster, with whom he probably 
held communication, landed ; and Northumberland with Hotspur joined him at 

The zeal that he had shewn in the cause of Henry lY. procured his advance- 
ment to the office of Constable of England for life, with the gift of the Isle of 
Man, to hold by bearing the Lancaster sword at the coronation. He was besides 
made Constable of the castles of Chester, Elint, Conway, and Caernarvon. In 2 
Henry IV., he Mas commissioned to treat of a marriage between Blanch eldest 
daughter of tlie king, with Lewis, Duke of Bavaria. In 3 Henry IV., he defeated 
the Scots in the decisive battle at Halidon-hill, where he took Earl Douglas, their 
general, prisoner ; and here his services and his intimate connexion with Henry IV. 
ceased. In 4 Llenry IV., his disaffection to the king began to shew itself. Some 
have affirmed that it was on account of money long due to him for the wardenship 



of the Marches, which Ilcnry IV. was unwilhiin* to pay ; others, that it originated 
ill a dispute about the ])risoners taken at Ilalidon. The Percys took up arms, 
and Sir Tliomas and young Henry lost their lives at Shrewsbury, before 
Northumberland could bring up the force he had collected for their aid. But the 
carl afterwards appeared before the king on promise of safety, and disavowed the 
actions of his son ; nor was Henry wilhng to push the matter any farther ; but 
granted him pardon on commitment to safe custody ; and in G Henry IV., either 
from recollection of what he owed to him, or from awe of him, restored all his 
possessions. In 7 Henry IV., he joined the insurgents in Yorkshire, and when 
they were quelled, he was pursued into Scotland. AVith a resolution unbroken by 
these reverses, he next retired into Wales, and concerted with Owen Glendour 
the means of deposing Henry IV. Tiicn proclaiming liberty to all who would rise 
and follow him, he reappeared in Yorkshire 8 Henry IV. at the head of a 
considerable number of men. Sir Thomas Eokeby, the sheriff of that county met 
him on Branham Moor near Tadcaster, and a skirmish ensued, in which he was 
slain. Such was the end of Henry Percy, first Earl of Northumberland, who 
betrayed the king that had advanced him to honour, and rebelled against the king 
whom he had placed upon the throne. His head and quarters were distributed to 
London and different places where he had been respected and obeyed. His age 
and high station, and the remembrance of past services rendered him an object of 
regret to the Lancastrians, and the partisans of Richard might be ready to believe 
that they had lost a friend ; but his real intention, it is said, was to have conferred 
the crown upon the Earl of March the rightful heir. — Wchb. 

Than my condition. 

That is, I will from henceforth rather put on the character tliat becomes me, 
and exert the resentment of an injured king, than still continue in the inactivity 
and mildness of my natural disposition. And this sentiment he has well expressed, 
save that by his usual licence, he puts the word condition for disposition. — 

The commentator has well explained the sense, which was not very difficult, but 
is mistaken in supposing the use of condition licentious. Shakespeare uses it very 
frequently for temper of mind, and in this sense the vulgar still say a (jood or 
ill-conditioned man. — Johnson. 

So, in King Henry V. : " Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not 
smooth." Ben Jonson uses it in the same sense, in the New-Inn, — 

Y^ou cannot think me of that coarse condition, 
To envy you any thing. — Steevens. 

'"^ My lord. 

Seymour, under the erroneous impression that it was necessary to add a 
syllable to complete the hemistich at the conclusion of Worcester's speech, proposes 
to read, — " Good, my lord." Another proposal is, — " My good lord," in an 
annotated copy. Unauthorised additions of this kind should be carefully avoided. 

Worcester, get thee gone. 

Sir Thomas Percy, second son of Henry Percy, by Mary daughter of Henry 
Earl of Lancaster, and younger brother to Henry first Earl of Northumberland ; 
a statesman and soldier of distinguished ability and reputation, who had spent a 
very active life in the service of his country. He was at this time upwards of 
fifty years of age. He had been with the Black Prince in Aquitaine ; was his 
hig-^h steward in 1369, and served under him with Chandos, KnoUes, Trivet, and 
others of that school of chivalry. He was at the skirmish in which Chandos was 




slain, on the morning of Dec. 31, 1370 ; assisted at various military operations in 
that country, and was at the barbarous sacking of Limoges, the last transaction 
in which the prince was engaged. When Sir Baldwin Ereville, seneschal of Poitou, 
went into England, he succeeded him ; and a contemporary thus speaks of him 
in this situation : 

Monsr. Thomas Percy li vaillant 
Yfuist ove honour moult grant. 

But, during his absence on an expedition, he had the misfortune to lose the 
town of Poiters, where he officially resided, to Bertrand du Guesclin ; and he was 
himself soon after taken prisoner by Evan of Wales, in an alfair near the castle 
of Soubise. His captivity, however, was not of long duration, the castle of Limosin 
being given up for his ransom in the next year, 47 Edw. III. The prince of 
Wales and his father, in consideration of his services, granted him, 50 Edw. III., 
an annuity of an hundred marks out of the exchequer at Caernarvon, and the 
same sum out of the king's exchequer during his life. 

He officiated at the coronation, of Bichard the Second ; and next appears, 2 
B. II., as admiral of the northern seas, where he made several prizes. As he was 
passing over into Erance, to the aid of the duke of Britanny, he narrowly escaped 
suffering shipwreck in the dreadful tempest in which Sir John Arundel and 
upwards of a thousand others were drowned. Scarcely had the storm ceased, when 
a Spanish vessel assailed him ; he captured it by boarding, after an obstinate 
resistance, and returned with it into port ; then proceeding upon his voyage, 
carried over his men and horses safely to Brest. He was joint governor of that 
place with Sir Hugh Calverley. About this time he was named one of the 
commissioners to settle the infractions of a treaty made with the Scots in the 
former reign. In 3 B. II., he attended the Earl of Buckingham in his expedition 
into Erance, and, in the next year, was employed Mitli the same nobleman and 
the Earl of Warwick in suppressing the insurrection : he was in the retinue of the 
king when he met the rebels at Mile-end. Beturning to Erance, he was at the 
siege of Nantes, and, 5 Bu II., was made captain of the castle of Brest, and after- 
wards of the town, 6 B. II. 

He is spoken of, 7 B. IL, as being of the king's council ; commissioned to 
act in treaties with Elanders and Erance, and to guard the East Marches. In 8 
and 10 B. II., he was again made admiral ; in which capacity he escorted the 
Duke of Lancaster into Castile, was at the storming of Bibadavia, and other 
conflicts in Spain : particularly at the barriers of Noya in Galicia he signalised 
himself by fighting hand to hand with Barrois des Barres, one of the ablest 
captains of Erance. Having been afflicted with the distemper that proved fatal to 
so many of the soldiers, he came home with the army. He was, in 13 B. II., 
appointed vice-chamberlain of the royal household, and justice of South AVales; 
and successively obtained grants of two castles in the Principality, 

We find him, in 16 B. IL, at the head of the embassy which brought about 
tlie peace with Erance, where he was much caressed and honoured by tlie Erench 
king : he was then steward of the household. He was retained to serve in the 
first campaign in Ireland, 18 B. II. The disputes between Bichard and the Duke 
of Gloucester so disgusted him, that he prudently solicited permission to retire 
to his own estate, and obtained it with some reluctance on the part of the king. 
At length, in 21 P^. II. , he was rewarded with the dignity of Earl of A\^orcester. 
He Avas also made captain of the town and castle and marches of Calais. His 
a])pointment to be admiral of Ireland is dated Jan. 10, 22 B. II. It was 
preparatory to this second Irish expedition, in which he was to take with him 
thirty-five men at arms, knights, and esquires, and one hundred archers ; to every 
twenty archers one carpenter and one mason. 




nis (lisaffcctioii to his old master mic^ht arise from the banishment of the Earl 
of Northumberland and his son, at which he was much exasperated. When 
Henry ascended the throne, it was one of his first objects to conciliate and attach 
so valuable a servant. Accordingly he bestowed many high appointments upon 
him ; made him ambassador to Erance, governor of Aquitaine, admiral of the 
fleet, lieutenant in North and South Wales ; and retained him as governor to his 
eldest son. Polidore Vergil is quite at a loss to account for his defection from 
Bolingbroke, which, he says, no author of any credit has explained ; and he 
ridiculously attributes it to envy. Carte affirms, that he detested Henry as the 
author of the murder of Bichard, and as an usurper of the throne, to the prejudice 
of the right heir, Edmund Mortimer Earl of March. Whatever might be the real 
cause of the dispute between Henry IV. and the Percies, each party laid the blame 
upon the other. When the affair came to an open rupture, Sir Thomas joined 
his ne])hew Hotspur, was taken at the battle of Shrewsbury, and beheaded there, 
July, 1403. He died without issue. He was knight of the Garter, and his 
barony was that of Haverfordwest ; he possessed the castle of Emelin in South 
Wales, and the castle and commot of Huckirk in the county of Caernarvon ; and 
had purchased the manor of Wresil in Yorkshire, where he built a castle. Had 
he survived the Earl and Countess of Northumberland, and Henry Percy, dying 
without heirs, he would have inherited a large proportion of the great estates of 
the Countess, his sister-in-law, the heiress of the Lucy family. 

Most contemporary writers have borne testimony to the talents and accomplish- 
ments of this nobleman. Walsinghara alone, a strong partisan of Henry, lays to 
his charge the bloodshed of the fatal day of Shrewsbury. He informs us that the 
king was willing to have treated with his adversaries before the engagement ; and 
that in a conference with Sir Thomas had even humbled himself to submit to 
unfavourable terms ; but that the latter wilfully misrepresented his expressions 
when he returned to Hotspur, and hastened the fight. It does not however 
actually appear that when he drew the sword he at once threw away the scabbard ; 
for that he was not averse to treat is plain from his accepting the dangerous office 
of a personal parley. But Henry survived to make a statement in favour of his 
own conduct, and Percy perished, tlis head and one of his quarters were set up 
on London Bridge ; and the order addressed to the Mayor and Sheriffs is worded ; 
perhaps in the usual official style, but certainly with apparent severity. The head 
is, " ibidem quamdiu poterit moraturam." 

That he excelled in the qualities of the chivalrous character cannot be doubted ; 
his gravity and dignity as a statesman may be inferred from his being chosen 
procurator for the clergy upon a very solemn occasion during the parliament of 
1397. Eroissart, who became personally acquainted with him in 1395, commends 
his gracious and agreeable manners. — Wchh. 

^® The moody frontier of a servant Iroic. 

That is, the moody border, outline, " of a servant brow." Or it may be 
considered as a term borrowed from fortification, in which frontier means an 
outwork. It will then mean the moody or threatening outwork ; in which sense the 
word occurs in the same play. — Nares. 

Frontier is a metaphorical expression highly proper, implying — arm'd to oppose : 
opposition to the will of a master being as plainly indicated by such a hroio as the 
King is describing, as Mar by a town or towns frontier, furnish'd against invasion. 
— Capetl, 

Lilce a dulljle-tand at harrest-home. 
A cliin new shaven is compared to a stMle-Jand at harvest-home, not on 



account of the festivity of that season, as I apprehend, but because at that time, 
when the corn has been but just carried in, the stubble appears more even and 
upright than at any other. — Tyrwliitt. 

A pouncet-hox. 

A small box for musk or other perfumes then in fashion : the lid of which, 
being cut with open work, gave it its name ; from poinsoner, to prich, pierce, or 
engrave. — Warhurton. 

Dr. Warburton's explanation is just. At the christening of Queen Elizabeth, 
the Marchioness of Dorset gave, according to Holinshed, "three gilt bowls 
pounced, with a cover." So also, in Gawin Douglas's translation of the nintli 
J^^neid : 

wroght rich curiously 

With figuris grave, and punsit ymagery. — Steevens. 

In the Bernal Collection, No. 3i82, was an early English silver scent case 
in divisions formed in the shape of a skull. It opened by unscrewing at top, and 
was engraved with the following verses : 

Tho' I spoke in vaine. If you alive when I am dead. 

This ends my paine. 'Tis true what ere to you I said. 

The following note was sent me by Mr. Eairholt, — Small pouncet-boxes for 
scents, with holes pierced in the lid 
for its emission, were in use by the 
Romans, and the first cut represents 
one of these found near York, and 
in the collection of Mr. Hargrave of 
that city. The public Museum 
there has other examples, and they 
have also been found at Bichborough 
in Kent, one of the earliest Eoman 
Castra in England. The second 
example is medieval, constructed 
for suspension, and taking the form of a padlock, the holes in the lid are fashioned 
like stars. It is of the era of this drama, and is copied from the original in the 
possession of W. Chaffers, E.S.A. Both are engraved of the full size of the 

Pouncet-hox, a box perforated with small holes, for carrying perfumes, quasi, 
pounced-box. It might be thought, from what follows, 
that a snuff-box was intended, but it means no more 
than snuffing it up, or smelling strongly to it ; with the 
addition of a quibble on the phrase, " to take any- 
thing in snuff,'' which was equivalent to taking huff at it, 
in modern familiar languasre. — Nares. 

In former times, perfumes were much more used by 
men than they are at the present day. " Pomanders 
and knots of powders for drying rheums are not as strong 
as perfumes, but you may have them continually in your 
hand, whereas perfumes you can but take but at times," 
Bacon. In another place, he speaks of " a moss the 
perfumers have out of apple-trees, that hath an 
excellent scent." The lord was " perfumed like a milliner." He no doubt was 
adorned with several small ornamental perfume-cases, independently of the 


pouncct-box, attached to his dress. One of such cases, used for containing 
l)erfunies, is here engraved. 

Tool' it m snuff. 

Aromatic powders were used as snuff long before the introduction of tobacco. 
Snuff is equivocally used for anger, and a powder taken up the nose. So, in the 
rieire, a comedy, by E. Sharpham, 10 10: "Nay be not angry; I do not touch 
thy nose, to the end it should take any thing in snuff." Again, in Decker's 
Satiromastix : 

'tis enough, 

Having so much fool, to take Mm in snuff. 

And liere they are talking about tobacco. Again, in Hinde's Eliosto Libidi- 
noso, IGOG : " The good wife glad that he tool the matter so in snuff," &c. — 

The broad-fac'd jests that other men put on you, 
You take for favours well bestow'd upon you. 
In sport they give you many a pleasant cufPe, 
Yet no mans lines but mine you take in sniff e. 

Taylor's Laugh and lie Fat, p. 69. 

Took 5;2?^^and posted up to heaven again. 
As to a high court of appeal, to bee 

Reveng'd on men for this indignitie. — Fletcher's Poems, p. 184. 

And whereas if in snuff and distaste you may fling away from such re infecta, 
a little patience and good words may do your business, and send you away with 
what you come for. — A Cap of Gray Hairs for a Green Head, 1688, p. 113. 

With my wounds being cold. 

Unnecessary alterations in the text have here been proposed. The fight was 
done before this trim lord came to him j and though he might be then breathless 
and dry, yet before he returned his answer about the prisoners, we find this fop 
stood prating deliberately, ever and anon smelling to his pcuncet-box, and still 
smiling and talking ; was offended at dead bodies being brought across his nose, 
and descanted wisely on guns, and drums, and wounds, and parmacity, and salt- 
petre : so that, in this interval, the blood might congeal enough to make Hotspur 
feel the smarting of his wounds. — Theobald. 

The old reading may be supported by the following passage in Barnes's 
History of Edward III. p. 786 : " The esquire fought still, until the wounds began 
with loss of blood to cool and smart." — Toilet. 

As when the blood is cold, we feel the wound. 

Drayton's Mor timer iados, 4to. Lond. 1596. 

To be so pester d with a popinjay. 

A popinjay or popingay is a parrot. Papegay, Fr. Papagallo, Hal. The 
Spaniards have a proverbial phrase, ' Hablar como papagayo^ to designate a 
chattering ignorant person. — Singer. 

Or like the mixture nature dothe display. 

Upon the quaint wings of the popinjay. — Browne, Fast. 

But if a popinjay speake, she doth it by imitation of man's voyce, artificially 
and not naturally. — Fuitenham, p. 256. 

Young popinjays learn quickly to speak. — Asch. Scholem. p. 36. 



Steevens quotes a passage, in which a distinction is made between a 'parrot 
and a popinjay; but whatever 
the author quoted might imagine, 
the derivation, and some of the 
above passages, seem to fix it ; 
unless we suppose the popinjay 
some particular species of parrot. 
— Nares. 

" There ben popengayes which 
ben grene and shynynge lyke 
pecockes which ben but lytell 
more than a jaye, of whom as 
men saye, they that have on eche 
fote, fyve clawes ben gentyls, and 
the vyllaynes have but thre, he hathe a taile longer than a fote, and a becke 
courbed and a greate tonge and forked, who that myght have one he myght well 
lerne hym to speke in the space of ij. yere," The Myrrour and Dyscrypcyon 
of the Wcrlde, fol. L. Andrewe, n. d. The annexed engraving of a popinjay is 
copied from one in this rare work. 

®^ Was parmaceti for an inicard bruise. 

So the old editions. Some modern editors have altered it to spermaceti. Sir 
Richard Hawkins, in his Voyage into the South Sea, 1593, speaking of whales, 
says, " — his spawne is for divers purposes. This we corruptly call parmacettie, 
of the Latin word Sperma Ceti.'' — Beed. " Sperma-Cetse is the seed of the whale, 
excellent for inward bruises, and to be bought at the pothecaries," Markham. 

His wounds are seldome above skin deepe ; for an inward bruise, Lambe 
stones and sweetbreads are his only Sperma-Ceti, which he eats at night next his 
heart fasting : strange schoolemasters they are, that every day set a man as far 
backward as he went forward, and throwing him into a strange posture, teach him 
to thresh satisfaction out of injurie. — Ooerhurys New and Choise Characters, 

Parmaceti. Schrod. T. it resolveth, moistens, and is anodyne. V. therefore it's 
commonly used in the resolution of coagulated bloud, caused by fals or otherwise. 
It appeaseth the pain of the collick, and in the bellies of infants : also it helps the 
cough, and tartar of the lungs ; the D. is scr. 1. to dracli. 2. some use it 
outwardly, upon the cicatrices of the small pocks, to fill them with flesh, note also 
some give it to women after delivery, to strengthen the laxate parts : C. the best 
is the white, fat, wen, and not unsavory, &c. — LovelVs History of Animals, 16G1. 

His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer. 
Shakespeare has fallen into some contradictions with regard to this Lord 
Mortimer. Before he makes his personal appearance in the play, he is repeatedly 
spoken of as Hotspur's brother-in-law. In the second Act, Lady Percy expressly 
calls him her brother Mortimer. And yet when he enters in the third Act, he 
calls Lady Percy his aunt, which in fact she was, and not his sister. This incon- 
sistency may be accounted for as follows. It appears both from Dugdale's and 
Sandford's account of the Mortimer family, that there were two of them taken 
prisoners at different times by Glendower ; each of them bearing the name of 
Edmund ; one being Edmund Earl of March, nephew to Lady Percy, and the 
proper Mortimer of this play ; the other, Sir Edmund Mortimer, uncle to the 
former, and brother to Lady Percy. Shakespeare confounds the two persons. — 

Another cause also may be assigned for this confusion. Henry Percy, 
IX. 39 



according to the accounts of some of our okl historians, married Eleanor, the 
sister of llogcr Earl of March, who was the father of the Edmund Earl of March, 
that appears in the present play. But this Edmund had a sister likewise named 
Eleanor. Shakespeare might, therefore, have at different times confounded these 
two supposed Eleanors. I say supposed, for in fact, the sister of llobert Earl of 
March, whom young Percy married, was called Elizabeth, as we learn from 
Ilardyng, who was a contemporary. — Maloue. 

'^^ Hath icUfiilli/ hetrayd. 
This insinuation on the part of the King, that Mortimer suffered himself to be 
captured, is ascribed to him in a manifesto of dubious authenticity, and is men- 
tioned by Hardy ng ; 

He said him nay, for he was taken prisoner 
By his consent and treason to his foe. 

I do not agree with Tyler, that the King's letter, lamenting the capture of his 
cousin, proves that he entertained no such suspicion. Walsingham speaks (p. 305) 
of Mortimer's capture proditioiie mediante. That letter was written some months 
before Mortimer married the daughter of the Welsh chieftain, and wrote thus to 
his tenants : — " Owen Glendower has raised a quarrel of which the object is, if 
King Richard he alive, to restore him to his crown, and if not, that my honoured 
nepliew (Earl of March), who is the right heir to the said crown, shall be King of 
England, and that the said Owen will assert his right in Wales." When such 
events followed a capture, it was not unreasonable to suspect that the surrender 
was voluntary. — Courtmy. 

Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower. 

It has been supposed, with small, if any probability, that Shakespeare, in deli- 
neating the character of Glendower, referred to the notorious Dr. Dee, but a few 
observations on that personage, from the pen of Mr. Wright, will not perhaps be 
considered out of place. — " One of the most interesting of the miscellaneous 
objects in the collection of Lord Londesborough is the magical mirror which 
belonged to the celebrated Dr. Dee, and which is represented in the accompanying 

wood-cut. Singularly 
enough, in the great 
intellectual revolutions 
of the sixteenth century, 
the old popular super- 
stitions of all kinds, 
insteadof sinkingbefore 
the increasing develop- 
ment of the human in- 
telligence, seemed to 
have suddenly gained a 
new force, and we find 
men of the highest re- 
putation in science be- 
lieving in witchcraft, 
and magic, and all the 
different wonders of the 
occult sciences. This strange blending of pure science and gross superstition is 
remarkably illustrated in the history of Dr. Dee. Born in London, in 1527, John 
Dee raised himself at an early age to a great reputation for his learning, in 
the mathematical sciences especially, in the most celebrated universities of his 




own country and of the continent. He is said to have imbibed a taste for tlie 
occult sciences while a student at Louvain, but there was evidently in his temper 
much of an enthusiastic and visionary turn, which must have given him a taste 
for such mysterious pursuits, without the necessity of any external impulse. One 
of the oldest and most generally credited of magical operations, was that of bring- 
ing spirits or visions into a glass or mirror, a practice which has continued to exist 
in the East even to the present day, and which prevailed to a very considerable 
extent in all parts of Western Europe during the sixteenth century. The process 
was not a direct one, for the magician did not himself see the vision in the glass, 
but he had to depend upon an intermediate agent, a sort of familiar, who in England 
was known by the name of a sJcnjer, and whose business it was to look into the glass, 
and describe what he saw. It is thus quite evident that the wise man, who 
believed that he could command the spirits of the unknown world, lay at the 
mercy of a very inferior agent, of whom he was easily the dupe. Such was no 
doubt the case with Dr. Dee, who seems to have tried several skryers with little 
success, until he became acquainted, soon after the year 1580, with Edward Kelly, 
a clever unprincipled man, who led Dee into a number of romantic adventures, 
which it is not necessary to relate here. During his connexion with Kelly, Dr. 
Dee kept an exact diary of all his visions, a portion of which was printed in a folio 
volume by Meric Casaubon, in 1659. In this journal more than one magical 
glass is evidently mentioned ; and we are not always sure, by the rather loose 
description of them, whether they were round or spherical. One of them the doctor 
had the weakness to believe had been brought to him by an angel from heaven. 
He died in the year 1608. We cannot state with any certainty whether the 
mirror figured above be one of those mentioned in the Journal. It is a polished 
oval slab of black stone, of what kind we have not been able to ascertain, but 
evidently of a description which was not then common in Western Europe ; and 
Dr. Dee may have considered it as extremely precious, and as only to be obtained 
by some extraordinary means. 

" The regular fitting-out of the magician at this period was a complicated 
process. He required his 
implements of various kinds, 
and, in addition to these, 
various robes, especiallymade 
for the occasion, with girdles 
and head-pieces, and magical 
rings and bracelets. A very 
curious example of the last- 
mentioned article of the 
magician's accoutrements is 
represented in our cut, of the 
full size of the orio'inal : it 
was purchased by Lord 
Londesborough in 1851, and 
had formerly been in the 
possession of Charles Main- 
wearing, Esq., of Coleby, near 
Lincoln. It is in silver, the 
letters of the inscription 
round the bracelet being engraved and filled with niello. This inscription com- 
mences as follows: — 




Some explanation of this mysterious inscription might, no doubt, be obtained 
by a diligent comparison of the numerous works on magic, compiled in the age of 
Dr. Dee, and in the seventeenth century. The bracelet has had four pendants to it, 
of which three still remain, with the silver setting of the fourth. One of the 
pendants which remain is a brownish pebble, secured by three flat bands of silver. 
Another is an oval cage of strong silver wire, containing a nut of some kind, or 
some other vegetable substance. The third has on one side a circular convex 
pebble, set in silver, and on the back three smaller pebbles." 

Shall our coffers then he empUed. 

The annexed engraving represents an interesting example of an ornamented 
cofPer of the early part of the fifteenth century. 

'''' And indent with fears. 

To " indent," is to sign an indenture or compact. This verb is used by 
Harrington in his translation of Ariosto, b. xvi. st. 35 : — 

And with the Irish bands he first indents. 

To spoil their lodgings and to burn their tents. 

Again, in the Cruel Brother, by Sir W. D'Avenant, 1G30 : — " Dost thou 
indent — With my acceptance, make choice of services?" 

Indent with beauty how far to extend. 
Set down desire a limit, where to end. 

Drayton s Heroic Epistles, p. 259. 

I am inclined to regard Mortimer (though the King affects to speak of him in 
the plural number) as the Fear, or timid object, which had lost or forfeited itself. 
Henry afterwards says : — 

he durst as well have met the devil alone, 

As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 

" Indent with fears," may therefore mean, sign an indenture or compact with 
dastards. Fears may be substituted for fearful people, as wrongs has been used 
for icrongers in King Eichard II. " Near Caesar's angel," that is, says the Sooth- 
sayer to Antony, " thy own becomes a fear," a spirit of cowardice ; and Sir 
Richard Vernon, in the play before us, uses an expression that nearly resembles 
indenting with fears : 



I hold as little counsel with weak feai\ 
As you, my lord . 

The King, by buying treason, and indenting with fears, may therefore covertly 
repeat both his pretended charges against Mortimer ; first, that he had treasonably 
betrayed his party to Glendower ; and, secondly, that he would have been afraid 
to encounter with so brave an adversary. Treason and cowardice are undoubtedly 
the two offences which the king intends to brand with his indignation. " Foes " 
is quite inadmissible. — Steevens. 

Hanmer proposes to read foes, but it is necessary also to read for instead of 
icith, unless the King considers Mortimer as a party in the agreement. — Mason. 

The king here speaks of " treason " and of "fears" of " buying " the former, 
and of " indenting with " the latter. That fears is equivalent to oltjects of fear, 
I have not the smallest doubt : compare Beaumont and Fletcher's Valentinian; 

'Twas time to look about : if I must perish. 

Yet shall my fears (the objects of my fear) go foremost. — Dyce. 

But hy the chance of war. 

The meaning is, he came not into the enemy's power, but by the chance of 
war. The King charged Mortimer, that he wilfully betrayed his army, and, as he 
was then with the enemy, calls him revolted Mortimer. Hotspur replies, that he 
never fell off, that is, never fell into Glendower's hands, but by the chance of war. 
— Johnson, 

Those motithed tvounds. 

This passage is of obscure construction. The later editors point it, as they 
understood that for the wounds a tongue was needful, and only one tongue. This 
is harsh. I rather think it is a broken sentence. " To prove the loyalty of 
Mortimer," says Hotspur, " one speaking witness is sufficient ; for his wounds 
proclaim his loyalty, those mouthed wounds," &c. — Johnson. 

Hotspur calls Mortimer's wounds mouthed from their gaping like a mouth, and 
says, that to prove his loyalty, but one tongue was necessary for all these mouths ; 
this may be harsh, but the same idea occurs in Coriolanus, where one of the 
populace says : — " For if he shews us his wounds, we are to put our tongues 
into these wounds, and speak for them." And again in Julius Cassar, Anthony 
says : 

But were I Brutus, 

And Brutus Anthony ; there were an Anthony 

Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 

In every wound of Csesar, that should move, &c. — Mason. 

''^ Never did base and rotten policy. 

All the quartos which I have seen read hare in this place. The first folio, and 
most of the subsequent editions, have base. I believe bare is right : " Never did 
policy, lying open to detection, so colour its workings." — Johnson. 

The first quarto, 1598, reads bare ; which means "so thinly covered by art as 
to be easily seen through." So, in Venus and Adonis : — " What bare excuses 
mak'st thou to be gone !" — Malone. 

Since there is such good authority as Johnson informs us, for reading base, in 
this passage, instead of bare, the former word should certainly be adopted. Bare 
policy, that is, policy lying open to detection, is in truth no policy at all. The 
epithet base, also best agrees with rotten. — Mason. 

And on my face he turn'd an eye of death. 
That is, an eye menacing death. Hotspur seems to describe the King as 



trembling with rage rather than fear. — Johnson. So, in Marlowe's Tamburlainc, 
1590 :— 

And wrapt in silence of his angry soul, 

Upon his brows were pourtraid ugly death. 

And in his eyes the furies of his heart. — Steevens. 

Johnson and Steevens seem to think that Elotspur meant to describe the King 
as trembhng not with fear, but rage ; but surely they are mistaken. The King 
had no reason to be enraged at Mortimer, Avho had been taken prisoner in fighting 
against his enemy ; but he had much reason to fear the man who had a better 
title to the crown than himself, M'hich had been proclaimed by Richard XL ; and 
accordingly, when Hotspur is informed of that circumstance, he says : 

Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king. 
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd. 

And Worcester, in the very next line, says : " He cannot blame him for trembling 
at the name of Mortimer, since Richard had proclaimed him next of blood." — 

Mason's remark is, I think, in general just; but the King, as appears from 
this scene, had some reason to be enraged also at Mortimer, because he thought 
that Mortimer had not been taken prisoner by the efforts of his enemies, but had 
himself revolted. — Malone. 

Was he not 'proclaimed the next of blood ? 

Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, who was born in 1371, was declared heir 
apparent to the crown in the 9th year of King Richard II., 1385. See Grafton, 
p. 3i7. But he was killed in Ireland in 1398. The person who was proclaimed 
by Richard heir apparent to the crown, previous to his last voyage to Ireland, was 
Edmund Mortimer, (the son of Roger,) who was then but seven years old ; but he 
M'as not Percy's wife's brother, but her nephew. — Malone. " Edmond, sonne to 
erle Roger, at kyng Richardes goyng into Ireland was proclaimed heire apparant 
to the crowne and realme," Hall's Chronicle. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, was the undoubted heir to the crown after 
the death of Richard. Sandford, in his Genealogical History, says, that the last 
mentioned Edmund, Earl of March, the Mortimer of this play, was married to 
Anne Stafford, daughter of Edmund, Earl of Stafford. Thomas Walsingham 
asserts that he married a daughter of Owen Glendower ; and the subsequent 
historians copied him ; but this is a very doubtful point, for the Welsh writers 
make no mention of it. Sandford says this Earl of March was confined by 
the jealous Henry in the castle of Trim in Ireland, and that he died there, 
after an imprisonment of twenty years, on the 19th of January, 1424. But this is 
a mistake. There is no proof that he was confined a state-prisoner by King- 
Henry the Eourth, and he was employed in many military services by his son 
Henry the Eifth. He died at his o^\n castle at Trim in Ireland, at. the time 
mentioned by Sandford, but not in a state of imprisonment. Owen Glendower's 
daughter was married to his antagonist Lord Grey of Ruthven. Holinshed led 
Shakespeare into the error of supposing her the wife of Edmund Mortimer, Earl of 
March. This nobleman, who is the Mortimer of the present play, was born in 
November, 1392, and consequently at the time when this play commences, was 
little more than ten years old. The prince of Wales was not fifteen. — Malone. 

Shakespeare also owes to Holinshed his mistake, in supposing that the Edmund 
]\Iortimer, who was prisoner and afterwards son-in-law to Glendower, was Edmund 
Mortimer, Earl of March, whom King Richard had proclaimed heir to the crown, 
and who was, according to hereditary right, now entitled to it. The Earl of 
March was at this time a child : it was his uncle. Sir Edmund Mortimer, second 



son of the first Earl of March, whose adventures Shakespeare relates and 
misappHes. Hotspur calls Mortimer his brother, because he married his sister 
Ehzabeth, called by the poet, Kate. — Courtnay. 

''^ That wisJid him on the barren mountains starved. 
In this conflict the Earle of Marche was taken prisoner and fettered with 
chaines, and cast into a deepe and vile dungeon. The king was solicited by many 
noble men, to use some meanes for his deliverance ; but hee would not heare on that 
eare ; hee could rather have wished him and his two sisters in heaven, for then the 
onely blemish to his title had beene out of the way ; and no man can tell whether 
this mischaunce did not preserve him from a greater mischiefe. — Kayward's Life 
of Henrie the Fourth, 1599. 

On the iinsteadfast footing of a spear. 
He seems to allude to the practice of making a bridge by means of a sword or 
a spear sometimes adopted by the heroes of ancient chivalry. See Lancelot of the 
Lake, and other similar romances. — Douce. Such an incident is represented on 

an ivory casket of the fourteenth century, in which Lancelot is shown crossing the 
water on the terrible sword. 

'^^ By heaven, methinJcs, it luere an easy teap. 
Euripides has put the very same sentiment into the mouth of Eteocles : " I 
will not, madam, disguise my thoughts ; I would scale heaven, I would descend to 
the very entrails of the earth, if so be that by that price I could obtain a kingdom." 
— Warhurton. 

A passage somewhat resembling this, occurs in Archbishop Parker's Address 
to the Reader, prefixed to his Tract entitled A Brief Examination for the Tyme, 
&c. — "But trueth is to hye set, for you to ptuch her out of heaven, to manifestlye 
knowen to be by your papers obscured, and surely stablished, to drowne her in the 
myrie lakes of your sophisticall writinges." — Steevens. 

This speech was frequently alluded to, and sometimes parodied or treated with 
ridicule, by comic writers of the seventeenth century. In the Knight of the 
Burning Pestle, a grocer's wife brings her apprentice Ralph to play a part ; and 
encouraging him to exert, says, — " Hold up thy head, Ralph ; shew the gentlemen 
what thou can'st do : speah a huffing part : I warrant you, the gentlemen unit 
accept of it r and then Ralph repeats this whole speech of Hotspur, — 
By heaven (me thinks) it were an easie leape 
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon, 
Or dive into the bottome of the sea. 
Where never fathome line toucht any ground. 
And pluck up drowned honour from the lake of hell. 

Again, in the Portraicture of his Sacred Majestic Charles L, 1619, — 

And dar'stnot own thy name? what hast thou done ? 
Shot at the man i' th' moon, and hit the sun ? 
What, dost thou mean to stand behind the noon, 
And pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon? 



Again, in Cartwright's Poems, 1G51, — 

Then go tliy ways, brave Will, for one : 
]3y Jove 'tis thou must leap, or none, 
To pull bright honour from the moon. 

In the Eactious Citizen or the Melancholy Visioner, 1685, p. 72, a madman is 
introduced, who sings the following lines, — 

I'll pull down honor from the pale-fac'd moon, 
And break the wheels of the all-circling sun. 

But out itpoii this half-fad d fellowship 

The image appears to me to be borrowed from coins, in which only half the 
countenance appears. Now countenance implies protection, personal friendship 
and assistance, as well as the face. Shakespeare uses half-faced for half-coun- 
tenanced : a fellowship to which the parties gave but half their genuine friendship 
and concurrence. — Seymour. The term half-faced was used in the metaphorical 
sense of, imperfect, paltry. So, in Nashe's Apologie of Pierce Pennilesse, 1593 : 
" with all other ends of your half-faced English." Again, in Histriomastix, 1610 : 
" Whilst I behold yon half-facd minion — ." But then, it will be said, " what 
becomes of fellowship ? Where is the fellowship in a single face in profile ? The 
allusion must be to the coins of Philip and Mary, where two faces were in part 
exhibited." This squaring of our author's comparisons, and making them 
correspond precisely on every side, is in ray apprehension the source of endless 
mistakes. Felloicship relates to Hotspur's " corrival" and himself, and I think 
to notliing more. — Malone. 

''^ He apprehends a world of figures here. 

Figure is here used equivocally. As it is applied to Hotspur's speech, it is a 
rhetorical mode; as opposed to form, it means appearance or shape. — Johnson. 

Figures mean shapes created by Hotspur's imagination ; but not the form of 
what he should attend, viz. of what his uncle had to propose. — Edwards. 

Worcester was about to communicate to Hotspur an important secret, but 
before he has disclosed it. Hotspur flies off in a kind of rhapsody without waiting 
to hear what Worcester had to propose, on which the latter observes, " that his 
imagination was filled with some great conceptions, but that he did not regard the 
particular business to which he ought to attend." — Seymour. 

'^^ Pll have a starling shall he taught to speah. 
Shakespeare was indebted to his memory, rather than to his imagination, for 
this lively suggestion, indicative, as it seems, of Hotspur's humorous though 
chivalric character. The idea had been acted upon about a century before the 
great poet's time, and he probably found it in the current stories which had 
descended to his era. Louis XI., after he had obtained his own way in all 
tangible matters, was much troubled in spirit at the names his Parisian lieges 
chose to call him in the retirement of their houses. He published an edict 
threatening pains and penalties, and his spies were very active. The nuisance 
seemed suppressed ; but fighting against scandal, when either founded on true or 
baseless foundations, is very like beating the air. Soon afterwards, Paris resounded 
with the forbidden abuse, and the Most Christian King could not pass down a 
street without liearing shouted in his ears epithets that were neither civil nor 
savourv. The King summoned his spies and police, and called them severely 
to account. They assured him that no human voice had uttered the epithets, but 
the Parisians had taught all their speaking birds these words of ofi^ence forbidden 
to their own lips. Louis, on this, ordered all the abusive animals to be summoned 




before him, that he might judge for himself. Next morning, the great hall of the 
Palais de Justice was covered with an infinite number of cages containing magpies, 
parrots, and especially starlings, the last being the principal culprits. Immediately 
on the king taking his seat, and the light being admitted, never did any potentate 
hear so much abuse of himself. " Louis, old tyrant, old fright, old gossip," 
resounded on all sides ; the poor birds, excited by the presence of so many of their 
own species, thinking it their duty to out-shout each other. Even the fear of 
consequences could not restrain the laughter of the officials, or remove the ridicule 
attached to the king, when a royal order issued for the execution of the innocent 
birds. The foundation of this fragment of historical comedy is to be seen in the 
Addenda to Monstrelet's Chronicles. 

'^^ That same sword-and-hicMer prince of Wales. 

A royster or turbulent fellow, that fought in taverns, or raised disorders in the 
streets, was called a Swash-buckler. In this sense sword-and-huchler is here used. 
— Johnson. 

Stowe will keep us to the precise meaning of the epithet here given to the 
prince. — " This field, commonly called West-Smithfield, was for many years 
called Eufiians Hall, by reason it was the usual place of frayes and common 
fighting, during the time that swords and bucklers were in use. When every 
sening-man., from the base to the best, carried a huchler at his back, which huDg 
by the hilt or pomel of his swordy — Henley. 

I have now before me (to confirm the justice of this remark) a poem entitled 
" Sword and Buckler, or Serving Man's Defence." By "William Bas, 1602. 
" What weapons bear they ? — Some sword and dagger, some sword and hucMer. — 
What weapon is that huchler — A clownish dastardly weapon, and not fit for a 
gentleman," Elorio's Eirst Eruites, 1578. — Malone. 

" Untill about the twelfe or thirteenth yeere of Queene Elizabeth the auncient 
English fight of sword and buckler was onely had in use : the bucklers then being 
but a foote broad, with a pike of foure or five inches long. Then they began to 
make them full halfe ell broad with 
sharpe pikes ten or twelve inches 
long wherewith they meant either 
to breake the swords of their ene- 
mies, if it hit upon the pike, or els 
suddenly to run within them and 
stabbe, and thrust their buckler 
with the pike, into the face, arme 
or body of their adversary ; but this 
continued not long. Every haber- 
dasher then sold bucklers." The 
above historian had, no doubt, good 
authority for what he says respect- 
ing the length of piJce ; but it is certain that in the eighth year of Elizabeth a 
proclamation was issued by which no person was permitted to wear any sword or 
rapier that should exceed the length of one yard and half a quarter in the blade, 
nor any dagger above the length of twelve inches in the blade nor any buckler 
with a point or pike exceeding the length of two inches, Stowe's Chronicle, 1634. 
The annexed early illustration, of two men exercising themselves with sword and 
buckler, is copied by Mr. Eairholt from an illuminated MS. of the fifteenth 

I learn from one of the Sloanian MSS. 2530, which seems to be the fragment 
of a register formerly belonging to some of our schools where the Noble Science 
ix. 40 



of Defence was taught from the year 15G8 to 1583, that in this art there were 
three degrees, viz., a Master's, a Provost's, and a Schohxr's. For each of tliese a 
prize was played, as exercises are kept in universities for similar purposes. The 
weapons they used were the axe, the pike, rapier and target, rapier and cloke, two 
swords, the two-hand sword, the bastard sword, the dagger and stafP, the sivord 
and buckler^ the rapier and dagger, &c. The places where they exercised were 
commonly theatres, halls, or otlier enclosures sufficient to contain a number of 
spectators : as Ely-Place in Holborn, the Bell Savage on Ludgate-Hill, the Curtain 
in llollywell, the Gray Eriars within Newgate, Elampton Court, the Bull in 
Bishopsgate-Street, the Clink, Duke's Place, Sahsbury-Court, Bridewell, the 
Artillery Garden, &c. — Steercns. 

The following curious dialogue shows that sword and buckler play became 
unfashionable after the sixteenth century. 

Fills. Oh, desperate ! 

Tang. A Latitat, sword and dagger. 

Fals. A writ of execution, rapier and dagger. 

Fals. Thou art come to our present weapon, but what call you sicord and 
huchler then ? 

Tang. Oh 1 that's out of use 
now, sword and buckler was cal'd 
a good conscience, but that weapons 
left long agoe ; that was too manly 
a fight, too sound a weapon for 
these our dales ; sl'id, wee are scarce 
able to lift up a buckler now, our 
armes are so bound to the poxe : 
one good bang uppon a buckler 
would make moste of our gentlemen 
flye a peeces ; tis not for these lintie 
times, our lawyers are good rapyer 
and dagger men, theile quickly dis- 
patch your — money. 

Fals. Indeede, since sword and 
buckler time, I have observ'd, there 
ha's beene nothing so much fighting: 
where bee all our gallant swag- 
gerers ? there are no good frayes 

Tang, Oh, sir, the properties 
altred ; you shall see lesse fighting 
everie day then other, for everie one 
gets him a mistris, and she gives him woundes enowe, and you knowe, the 
surgeons cannot bee here and there too, if there were red woundes too, what wold 
become of the Eeinish woundes ? 

Fals. Thou saist true, yfaith, they would bee but il favouredly lookt to then. 
Tang. Yerie well, sir. 
Fals. I expect you, sir. 

Tang. I lye in this court for you, sir ; my rapyer is my atturney, and my 
dagger his clarke. 

Fals. Your atturney wants a little oyling, methinkes, he lookes very rustily. — 
Middletonh Phcenix, 1607. 

The words of Hotspur imply a contempt for the exercise of sword-and-buckler, 
which is attempted to be ridiculed in a cut of Shakespeare's time (here engraved) 
by those weapons being placed in the hands of a hare, symbolical of a coward. 



^'^ I iDonld have him poison' d with a pot of ale. 

Dr. Grey supposes this to be said in allusion to an account of King John's 
death in the Eructus Temporum, 1515, fol. 62, but it has merely reference to 
the low company (drinkers of ale) with whom the prince spent so much of his time 
in the meanest taverns. — Steevens. 

What a ivasp-tongiie. 

The first quarto, 1598, reads icasp-stiing , which Steevens thought the true 
reading. The quarto of 1599 reads tcasp-tongue, which Malone strenuously 
contends for ; and I think with Nares that he is right. " He who is stung by 
wasps has a real cause for impatience; but toaspish, which is often used by 
Shakespeare, is petulant from temper ; and toasp-tongue therefore very naturally 
means petulant-tongue, which was exactly the accusation meant to be urged." 
The folio altered it unnecessarily to loasp-tongued. — Singer. 

Had Hotspur himself been the speaker, he might naturally have said, in 
justification of his impatience, that he was wasp-stung, as he afterwards says he is 
" stung with pismires ;" and even if Northumberland had supposed his son to be 
so uncomfortably assailed, there would be no reason to wonder at his restlessness ; 
but Hotspur is reproached for being irritated without any sufficient cause, and 
from the mere caprice and petulance of his temper, and thus he is called " wasp- 
tongue," as Erutus says to Cassius : — 

I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 

When you are waspish. 

Wasp-tongued, says Heron, is a metaphor nothing like so hard as many used 
by Shakespeare, and implies, with a tongue, poisonous and keen as the sting of a 
wasp ; for a peevish scold is frequently called a wasp, and Jonson gives that 
name to a peevish character in his Bartholomew Fair. — Seymour. 

The first quarto copies of several of these plays are in many respects much 
preferable to the folio, and in general I have paid the utmost attention to them. 
In the present instance, however, I think the transcriber's ear deceived him, and 
that the true reading is that of the second quarto, 1599, wdL^^-tongue, which I 
have adopted, not on the authority of that copy, for it has none, but because I 
believe it to have been the word used by the author. The folio was apparently 
printed from a later quarto ; and the editor from ignorance of our author's 
phraseology changed wasp-tongue to wasjy-tongned. There are other instances of 
the same unwarrantable alterations even in that valuable copy of our author's 
plays. The change was made from ignorance of Shakespeare's phraseology ; for 
in King Richard III. we have — his venom-iooth, not venom'd tooth ; your tvidow- 
dolour, not «p/^/o?p'<f-dolour ; and in another play, — parted with sz^yar-breath, not 
sugar' d breath ; and many more instances of the same kind may be found. Thus, 
in this play, — smooth-^o^?^?^^?, not smQQ\k\-tongued. Again : " — stolen from my 
host at St. Albans, or the red-wose innkeeper of Daintry," not \t^-nosed. Again, 
in King Richard III. : — " Some light^oo^ friend post to the Duke of Norfolk :" 
not \\^i-footed. So also, in the Black Book, 4ito. 1504 : " — The spindle-shanke 
spyder, which showed like great leachers with little legs, went stealing- over his 
head," &c. In the last Act of the Second Part of King Henry IV. " blew- 
hottle-rogue," the reading of the quarto is changed by the editor of the folio to 
" hlew-bottled rogue," as he here substituted yvasip-tougued for \Yasp-to)igue. 
Shakespeare certainly knew, as Steevens has observed, that the sting of a wasp lay 
in his tail ; nor is there in my apprehension any thing couched under the epithet 
wasp-tongue, inconsistent with that knowledge. It means only, having a tongue 
as peevish and mischievous (if such terms may be applied to that instrument of the 



luiiul) as a wasp. Thus, in As You Like It, waspish is used without any 
particuhir reference to any action of a wasp, but merely as synonymous to peevish 
or frclfnl ; and, in the Tempest, Iris speaks of Cupid as waspish-headed. See 
also the dialogue between Catharine and Petruchio, where the former speaks 
metaphorically of a wasp's sting being in the tongue. Independent, however, of 
all authority, or reference to other passages, it is supported by the context here. A 
person stung by a wasp would not be very likely to claim all the talh to himself, 
as Hotspur is described to do, but rather in the agony of pain to implore the 
assistance of those about him ; whereas " the v^o&^-tongne fool" may well be 
supposed to " break into a woman's mood," and to listen " to no tongue but his 
own." Mason thinks that the words afterwards used by Hotspur are decisively in 
favour of wasTp-slun(/, — " Nettled and st/mff with pismires :" but Hotspur uses that 
expression to mark the poignancy of his own feelijigs ; Northumberland uses the 
term wasp-tongne to denote the irritability of his son's temper, and the petulance 
of his language. — Malone. 

The reading of the first quarto seems to me unquestionably the true one. 
The later editions give wasp-tongue instead of " wasp-stung ;" a phrase, which in 
this place, seems to me to be utterly without meaning, but which is construed by 
Malone to mean " having a tongue as peevish and mischievous as a wasp." But 
this makes the Earl call his son " a wasp-tongue and an impatient fool," which is 
not a Shakesperian or an admissible mode of joining epithets. The advocates of 
wasp-tongue evidently suppose it, as well as " impatient," to be an adjective 
belonging to " fool ;" but in that case it would have been ' wasp-tongue(/.' It is 
needless to point out the particular parts of Hotspur's conduct in this scene which, 
justify his father in likening him to one stung by a wasp. The confusion of these 
epithets is the easiest imaginable. It is difficult to discriminate in speech between 
' wasp-stung' and ' wasp-tongue,' and not difficult to mistake them for each other 
in manuscript. — Grant White. 

Tit steal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer. 

The editors of the folio, 1623, copied implicitly the 4to. impression nearest to 
their own day, that of 1613, adopting many of its defects, and, as far as we can 
judge, resorting to no MS. authority, nor to the previous quartos of 1598, 1599, 
1604, and 1608. Several decided errors, made in the reprint of 1599, were 
repeated and multiplied in the subsequent quarto impressions, and from thence 
found their way into the folio. Near the end of Act i. we meet with a curious 
proof of what we have advanced : we there find a line, thus distinctly printed in 
the 4to, 1598 : — " I'le steale to Glendower and Lo : Mortimer :" that is, " I'll steal 
to Glendower and Lord Mortimer," Lo : being a common abbreviation of " Lord ;" 
but the compositor of the 4to, 1599, strangely misunderstanding it, printed it as 
follows; — "lie steale to Glendower and loe Mortimer;" as if Lo : of the 4to, 
1598, were to be taken as the interjection, lo ! then usually printed loe, and so the 
blunder was followed in the subsequent quartos, including that of 1613, from 
whence it was transferred, literatim, to the folio, 1623. The error is repeated in 
the folio, 1632 ; but Norton, the printer of the 4to, 1639, who did not adopt the 
text of either of the folios, saw that there must be a blunder in the line, and 
although he did not know exactly how to set it right, he at least made sense of it, 
by giving it, — " I'll steal to Glendower and to Mortimer." We only adduce this 
instance as one proof, out of many which might be brought forward, to establish 
the superiority of the text of the 4to. of 1598, to any of the subsequent re- 
impressions. — Collier. 


SCENE I.— Rochester. The Yard of the Crown Inn.' 

Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand. 

First Car. Heigh-ho ! an't be not four by the day, I'll be 
hanged : Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our 
horse not packed. — ^What, ostler ! 

Ost. [within. ~\ Anon, anon. 

First Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks 
in the point ; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all 

Enter another Carrier. 

Sec. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that 
is the next way to give poor jades the bots,^ this house is turned 
upside down since Robin ostler died. 

First Car. Poor fellow I never joyed since the price of oats 
rose ; it was the death of him. 

Sec. Car. I think this be the most villanous house in all 
London-road for fleas : I am stung like a tench.* 

First Car. Like a tench ! by the mass, there is ne'er a king 
in Christendom could be better bit than I have been since the 
first cock. 


KING IIENEY THE FOURTH. [act ii. sc. i. 

Sec. Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a Jordan,'^ and then 
we leak in your ehininey ; and your ehaniber-lie breeds fleas 
like a loach." 

First Cor. What, ostler ! eome away and be hanged ; come 

Sec. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger/ 
to be delivered as far as Charinp'-cross. 

First Car. 'Odsbody, the turkeys in my pannier are quite 
starved. — What, ostler ! — A plague on thee ! hast thou never 
an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An 'twere not as good a 
deed as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a very villain. — 
Come, and be hanged : — hast no faith in thee ? 

Enter Gadshill. 

Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock ? 
First Car. I think it be two o'clock. 

Gads. I prithee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the 

First Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye ; I know a trick worth two of 
that, i'faith. 

Gads. 1 prithee, lend me thine. 

Sec. Car. Ay, when ? canst tell ? — Lend me thy lantern, 
quoth a ? — marry, I'll see thee hanged first. 

Gads. Sirrah Carrier, what time do you mean to come to 
London ? 

Sec. Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant 
thee. — Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen : 
they wdll along with company, for they have great charge. 

\_Exeunt Carriers. 

Gads. What, ho ! chamberlain ! 

Cham. \icitliin?)^ At hand, quoth pick-purse. 

Gads. That's even as fair as — at hand, quoth the chamberlain ; 
for thou variest no more from picking of purses than giving 
direction doth from labouring ; thou layest the plot how. 

Enter Chamberlain. 

Cham. Good morrow. Master Gadshill. It holds current that 
I told you yesternight : — there's a franklin in the wild of Kent 
hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold : I heard 
him tell it to one of his company last night at supper ; a kind 



of auditor, one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows 
what. They are up already, and call for eggs and butter ; they 
will away presently. 

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas' clerks, I'll 
give thee this neck. 

Cham. No, I'll none of it : I prithee, keep that for the 
hangman ; for I know thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly 
as a man of falsehood may. 

Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman ? if I hang, 
I'll make a fat pair of gallows ; for if I hang, old Sir John hangs 
with me, and thou knowest he's no starveling. Tut ! there are 
other Trojans that thou dream est not of, the which, for sport- 
sake, are content to do the profession some grace ; that would, 
if matters should be looked into, for their own credit-sake, make 
all whole. I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff 
sixpenny strikers,^ none of these mad mustachio purple-hued 
malt-worms ; but with nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters 
and great oneyers,^ such as can hold in,^" such as will strike 
sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink 
sooner than pray : and yet I lie ; for they pray continually to 
their saint, the commonwealth ; or, rather, not pray to her, but 
prey on her, — for they ride up and down on her, and make her 
their boots. 

Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots ? will she hold 
out water in foul way ? 

Gads. She will, she will ; justice hath liquored her. W^e 
steal as in a castle, cock-sure ; we have the receipt of fern-seed," 
— we walk invisible. 

Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to 
the night than to fern-seed for your walking invisible. 

Gads. Give me thy hand : thou shalt have a share in our 
purchase, as I am a true man. 

Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief. 

Gads. Go to ; homo is a common name to all men. Bid the 
ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, ye muddy 
knave. [Exeunt. 


KING IIENEY TEE FOUETH. [actil sc. ii. 

SCENE II.— The Road hj GadsMll. 

Enter Prince Henry, Pointz, Bardolpu/^ and Peto. 

Poin. Come, shelter, shelter : I have removed FalstafF's horse, 
and he frets like a gummed velvet. 

P. Hen. Stand close. retire. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Pointz ! Pointz, and be hanged ! Pointz ! 
P. Hen. [coming forward?^ Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal ! 
what a brawling dost thou keep ! 
Fal. Where's Pointz, Hal ? 

P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill : I'll go seek 
him. [Retires. 

Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's company : the rascal 
hath removed my horse, and tied him I know not where. If I 
travel but four foot by the squire further a-foot, I shall break 
my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, 
if I scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his 
company hourly any time this two-and-twenty year, and yet I 
am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have 
not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged ; 
it could not be else ; I have drunk medicines. — Pointz ! — Hal ! — 
a plague upon you both ! — Bardolph I — Peto ! — I'll starve, ere 
I'll rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, 
to turn true man, and leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet 
that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground 
is threescore and ten miles a-foot with me ; and the stony- 
hearted villains know it well enough : a plague upon't, when 
thieves cannot be true one to another ! [T/tei/ whistle. ~\ Whew ! 
— A plague upon you all ! Give me my horse, you rogues ; 
give me my horse, and be hanged. 

P. He7i. [cominfj foricard.~\ Peace, ye fat guts I lie down ; lay 
thine ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the 
tread of travellers. 

Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down ? 
'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh so far a-foot again for all 



the coin in thy father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye to 
colt me thus 

P. Hen, Thou liest ; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted. 
Fal. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good 
king's son. 

P. Hen. Out, you rogue ! shall I he your ostler ? 

Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apj)arent garters I 
If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made 
on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my 
poison : — when a jest is so forward, and a-foot too ! — I hate it. 

Enter Gadshill. 

Gads. Stand. 

Fal. So I do, against my will. 

Poin. O, 'tis our setter ; I know his voice. 

[Coming forward loith Bardolph and Peto. 
Bard. What news ? 

Gads. Case ye, case ye ; on with your visards : there's money 
of the king's coming down the hill ; 'tis going to the king's 

Fal. You lie, you rogue ; tis going to the king's tavern. 
Gads. There's enough to make us all. 
Fal. To be hanged. 

P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane ; 
Ned Pointz and I will walk lower : if they scape from your 
encounter, then they light on us. 

Peto. How many be there of them ? 

Gads. Some eight or ten. 

Fal. Zounds, will they not rob us ? 

P. Hen. What, a coward. Sir John Paunch? 

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but 
yet no coward, Hal. 

P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. 

Poi7i. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge : when 
thou needest him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and 
stand fast. 

Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. 
P. Hen. [aside to Pointz.~\ Ned, where are our disguises ? 
Poin. Here, hard by : stand close. 

[Exeunt P. Henry and Pointz. 
IX. 41 


KING ITENUY THE EOUUTH. [act it. sc. ii. 

Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I : every 
man to his business. 

E titer Travellers. 

First Trav. Come, neighbour : the boy shall lead our 
horses down the hill ; we'll walk a-foot awhile, and ease our 

Fal., Gads,, Sfc. Stand ! 
Travellers. Jesu bless us I 

Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the villains' throats : — 
ah, whoreson caterpillars ! bacon-fed knaves I they hate us 
youth : — down with them ; fleece them. 

Travellers. O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever ! 

Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone ? No, ye 
fat chulfs [they hind their arms^ I would your store were 
here ! On, bacons, on ! What, ye knaves ! young men must 
live. You are grand-jurors, are ye ? we'll jure ye, i'faith. 

[Exeunt Fal., Gads., Sfc, driving the Travellers out. 

Re-enter Prince Henry and Pointz, in huchram suits. 

P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men.^^ Now, could 
thou and I rob the thieves, and go merrily to London, it would 
be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest 
for ever. 

Poin. Stand close ; I hear them coming. [They retire. 

Re-enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto. 

Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse 
before day. An the Prince and Pointz be not two arrant 
cowards, there's no equity stirring : there's no more valour in 
that Pointz than in a wild-duck. 

[As they are sharing, the Prince and Pointz set upon them. 
P. Hen. Your money ! 
Poin. Villains ! 

[Gadshill, Bardolph and Peto run away; and 
Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the 
booty behind. 

P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse : 
The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear 



So strongly that they dare not meet each other ; 
Each takes liis fellow for an officer. 
Away, good Ned. FalstafF sweats to death, 
And lards the lean earth as he walks along ; 
Were't not for laughmg, I should pity him. 

Poin. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. 

Enter Hotspur, readincj a letter. 

Hot. " — But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well 
contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house." 
— He could be contented, — why is he not, then ? In respect of 
the love he bears our house : — he shows in this, he loves his own 
barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more. 
"The purpose you undertake is dangerous:" — why, that's 
certain : 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink ; but I 
tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this 
flower, safety. " The purpose you undertake is dangerous ; the 
friends you have named uncertain ; the time itself unsorted ; 
and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an 
opposition." — Say you so, say you so ? I say unto you again, you 
are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is 
this ! By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid ; our 
friends true and constant : a good plot, good friends, and full of 
expectation ; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty- 
spirited rogue is this ! Why, my Lord of York commends the 
plot and the general course of the action. Zounds, an I were 
now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan.^*^ Is 
there not my father, my uncle, and myself? Lord Edmund 
Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower ? is there not, 
besides, the Douglas ? have I not all their letters to meet me in 
arms by the ninth of the next month ? and are they not some of 
them set forward already ? What a pagan rascal is this ! an 
infidel ! Ha I you shall see now, in the very sincerity of fear 
and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our pro- 
ceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for 


KING HENllY THE TOUUTIL [act ir. sc. nr. 

moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honovirable an 
action ! Hang him ! let him tell the king : we are prepared. I 
will set forw^ard to-night. 

Enter Lady Percy. 

IIow" now, Kate I must leave you within these two hours 
Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus alone ? 

For what offence have I this fortnight been 

A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed 

Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee 

Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep ? 

Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, 

And start so often when thou sitt'st alone ? 

Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks j 

And given my treasures and my rights of thee 

To thick-ey'd musing and curs'd melancholy? 

In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd, 

And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars ; 

Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed ; 

Cry, " Courage ! to the field !" — and thou hast talk'd 

Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents. 

Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets. 

Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin. 

Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain. 

And all the 'currents of a heady fight. 

Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, 

And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, 

That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, 

Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream ; 

And in thy face strange motions have appear'd. 

Such as we see when men restrain their breath 

On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are these ? 

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand. 

And I must know it, else he loves me not. 
Hot. What, ho ! 

Enter a Servant. 

Is Gilliams with the packet gone ? 
Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. 

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff? 



Serv. One liorsc, my lord, he brought even now. 
Hot. What horse ? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not ? 
Serv. It is, my lord. 

Hot. That roan shall be my throne. 

Well, I will back him straight : O esperance ! — 
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [_Exit Servant. 

Lady. But hear you, my lord. 

Hot. What say'st thou, my lady? 

Lady. What is it carries you away ? 

Hot. Why, my horse, my love, — my horse. 

Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape ! 
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen 
As you are toss'd with. In faith, 
I'll know your business, Harry, — that I will. 
I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir 
About his title, and hath sent for you 
To line his enterprize : but if you go, — 

Hot. So far a-foot, I shall be weary, love. 

Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
Directly unto this question that I ask : 
In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, 
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 

Hot. Away, 
Away, you trifler — Love? — I love thee not, 
I care not for thee, Kate : this is no world 
To play with mammets and to tilt with lips 
We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns, 
And pass them current too. — Gods me, my horse I — 
What say'st thou, Kate ? what wouldst thou have with me ? 

Lady. Do you not love me ? do you not, indeed ? 
Well, do not, then ; for since you love me not, 
I will not love myself. Do you not love me ? 
Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no. 

Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride ? 
And when I am o' horseback, I will swear 
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate ; 
I must not have you henceforth question me 
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout : 
Whither I must, I must ; and, to conclude. 
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
I know you wise : but yet no further wise 
Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are ; 


KING HENRY THE EOURTII. [act n. sc. iv. 

But yet a womun : and for secrecy, 
No lady closer ; for I well belieye 
Thou wilt uot utter what thou dost not know, — 
And so far will 1 trust thee, gentle Kate. 
L(((h/. How ! so far ? 

Hot. Not an inch fiuther. But hark you, Kate ; 
Whither I go, thither shall you go too ; 
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. — 
Will this content you, Kate ? 

Lady. It must of force. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Eastcheap. A Room in the Boars Head Tavern.^^ 

Enter Prince Henry. 

P. Hen. Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend 
me thy hand to laugh a little. 

Enter Pointz. 
Pom. Where hast been, Hal ? 

P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads amongst three or 
fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the yery base-string of 
humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers ; 
and can call them all by their Christian names, as, — Tom, Dick, 
and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that 
thougih I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy ; 
and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Ealstaff, but a 
Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy (by the Lord, so they 
call me), and when I am king of England, I shall command all 
the good lads in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dyeing 
scarlet ; and when you breathe in your watering,"^ they cry 
" hem 1"^^ and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am so good a 
proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any 
tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, 
thou hast lost much honour, that thou wert not with me in this 
action. But, sw^eet Ned, — to sweeten which name of Ned, I 
give thee this pennyworth of sugar,^* clapped even now into my 
hand by an under-skinker,"' one that never spake other English 
in his life than, " Eight shillings and sixpence," and " You are 



welcome," with this shrill addition, " Anon, anon, sir ! Score a 
pint of bastard in the Ilalf-moon," "° or so : — but, Ned, to drive 
away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee, do thou stand in some 
by-room, while I question my puny drawer to what end he gave 
me the sugar ; and do thou never leave calling " Francis," that 
his tale to me may be nothing but " anon." Step aside, and 
I'll show thee a precedent. \_Exit Pointz. 

Poin. \ivithinS\ Francis I 

P. Hen. Thou art perfect. 

Poin. \ivithin.'] Francis ! 

Enter Francis. 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir." — Look down into the Pomegranate, 

P. Hen. Come hither, Francis. 
Fran. My lord ? 

P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis ? 
Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to, — 
Poin. \icithin.~\ Francis ! 
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. Five years ! by'r lady, a long lease for the clinking 
of pewter."^ But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play 
the coward with thy indenture, and show it a fair pair of heels 
and run from it ? 

Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in 
England, I could find in my heart, — 

Poin. [ivit/iin.^ Francis ! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis ? 

Fran. Let me see, — ahout Michaelmas next I shall be, — 
Poin. [wit/iin.~\ Francis ! 

Fran. Anon, sir. — Pray you, stay a little, my lord. 

P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis : for the sugar thou 
gavest me, — 'twas a pennyworth, was't not? 

Fran. O Lord, sir, I would it had been two! 

P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound : ask me 
when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. 

Poin. \within.'\ Francis ! 

Fran. Anon, anon. 

P. Hen. Anon, Francis ? No, Francis ; but to-morrow, 



[act II. sc. IV. 

Francis ; or, Francis, on Thursday ; or, indeed, Francis, wlicn 
thou wilt. But, Francis, — 
Fran. Mv lord ? 


P. lien. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, 
iiott-patcd, agate-ring, })uke-stocking,~^ caddis-garter/" smooth- 
tongue, S[)anish-pouch, — 

Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean? 

P. lien. Why, then, your brown bastard is your only drink 
for, look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully : in 
Barbican, sir, it cannot come to so much. 

Fran. What, sir ? 

Poin. \toithi7i.^ Francis ! 

P. Hen. Away, you rogue ! dost thou not hear them call ? 

[Here iliey both call him ; Francis stands amazed, not 
knoicing which way to go. 

Enter Quickly.^^ 

Quick. What, standest tliou still, and hearest such a calling? 
Look to the guests within. [E^ait Francis.] My Lord, old 
Sir John, with half-a-dozen more, are at the door : shall I let 
them in ? 

P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. 
[Exit Quickly.] Pointz ! 

Re-enter Pointz. 
Poin. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. Sirrah, FalstafF and the rest of the thieves are at the 
door : shall we be merry ? 

Poin. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye ; what 
cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer ? 
come, what's the issue ? 

P. Hen. I am now of all humours that have showed them- 
selves humours since the old days of goodman Adam to the 
pupil-age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight. — What's 
o'clock, Francis? 

Fran, [tvithiti.^ Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than 
a parrot, and yet the son of a woman ! His industry is up-stairs 
and down-stairs ; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I 
am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north ; he that 

ACT ir. sc. IV.] 



kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes 
his hands, and says to his wife, " Fie upon this quiet life ! I want 
work." " O my sweet Harry," says she, " how many hast thou 
killed to-day?" Give my roan horse a drench," says he ; and 
answers, "Some fourteen," an hour after, — "a trifle, a trifle." 
I prithee, call in FalstafF : I'll play Percy, and that damned 
brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. " Rivo," says the 
drunkard. Call in Ribs, call in Tallow. 

Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto ; followed 
by Francis, ivJio hears a cup of wine, 

Poin. Welcome, Jack : where hast thou been ? 

Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too ! 
marry, and amen ! — Give me a cup of sack,^^ boy. — Ere I lead 
this life long, I'll sew nether-stocks, and mend them and foot 
them too. A plague of all cowards ! — Give me a cup of sack, 
rogue. — Is there no virtue extant ? [He drinks. 

P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? 
pitiful-hearted Titan,^* that melted at the sweet tale of the sun ! 
if thou didst, then behold that compound. 

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack^' too : there is 
nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man : yet a coward 
is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it, — a villanous coward. 
— Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, 
good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth 
then am I a shotten-herring. There live not three good men 
unhanged in England ; and one of them is fat, and grows 
old : God help the while ! a bad world, I say. I would I 
were a weaver ; I could sing psalms or any thing. A plague of 
all cowards, I say still. 

P. Hen. How now, wool-sack ! what mutter vou ? 

Fal. A king's son I If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom 
with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like 
a flock of wild-geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. 
You Prince of Wales ! 

P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter ? 

Fal. Are you not a coward ? answer me to that ; — and Pointz 
there ? 

Poin. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll stab 

Fal. I call thee coward ! I'll see thee damned ere I call thee 
IX. 42 


KING ITENllY THE FOURTIL [act it. sc. iv. 

coward : but I would give a thousand pound, I covdd run as fast 
as thou canst. You are straiglit enough in the shoulders, — you 
care not who sees your back : call you that backing of your 
friends ? A plague upon such backing! give me them that will face 
me. — Give me a cup of sack: — I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day. 

P. Hen. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou 
drunkest last. 

Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, still say I. 

\_IIe drinks. Exit Francis. 

P. Hen. What's the matter ? 

Fal. What's the matter ! there be four of us here, have ta'en 
a thousand pound this morning. 

P. Hen. Where is it Jack ? where is it ? 

Fal. Where is it I taken from us it is : a hundred upon poor 
four of us. 

P. Hen. What, a hundred, man? 

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen 
of them two hours together. I have scaped by miracle. I am 
eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose ; 
my buckler cut through and through f'^ my sword hacked like a 
hand-saw, — ecce signum! I never dealt better since I was a 
man : all would not do. A plague of all cowards ! — Let them 
speak : if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains 
and the sons of darkness. 

P. Hen. Speak, sirs ; how was it ? 

Gads. We four set upon some dozen, 

Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord. 

Gads. And bound them. 

Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 

Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them : or I 
am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 

Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set 
uj)on us, — 

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other. 

P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all ? 

Fal. All ! I know not what ye call all ; but if I fought not 
wdtli fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish : if there were not 
two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two- 
legged creature, 

P. Hen. Pray God you have not murdered some of them. 

Fal. Nay, that's past praying for : I have peppered two of 
them ; two I am sure I have paid, — two rogues in buckram suits. 



I tell thee what, Hal, — if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call 
me horse. Thou knowest my old Avard ; — here I lay, and thus 
I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me, — 

P. Hen. What, four ? thou saidst but two even now. 

Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 

Poin. Ay, ay, he said four. 

Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. 
I made me no more ado but took all their seven points in my 
target, thus. 

P. Hen. Seven ? why, there were but four even now. 

Fal. In buckram. 

Poin. Ay, four, in buckram suits. 

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 

P. Hen. Prithee, let him alone ; we shall have more anon. 

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal ? 

P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too. Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in 
buckram that I told thee of, — 
P. Hen. So, two more already. 
Fal. Their points being broken,^^ — 
Pom. Down fell their hose. 

Fal. Began to give me ground : but I followed me close, 
came in foot and hand ; and with a thought seven of the eleven 
I paid. 

P. Hen. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men grown out of 
two ! 

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves 
in Kendal green came at my back and let drive at me ; — for it 
was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. 

P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets them, — 
gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained 
guts, thou nott-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow- 
keech,'' — 

Fal. What, art thou mad ? art thou mad ? is not the truth 
the truth? 

P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal 
green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand ? come, 
tell us your reason : what sayest thou to this ? 

Poin. Come, your reason, Jack, — your reason. 

Fal. What, upon compulsion ? No ; were I at the strap- 
pado,^" or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on 
compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion ! if reasons were 


[act ir. sc. IV. 

as })lcMity as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon 
couipiilsion, I. 

P. lien, ril be no longer guilty of this sin ; this sanguine 
coward, this bed-presser, this horse'-back-breaker, this huge hill 
of flesh, — 

F((L Away, you starveling, you elf-skin,*" you dried neat's- 
tongue, bull's-pizzle, you stock-fish, — O for breath to utter 
what is like thee I — you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, 
you vile standing- tuck, — 

P. lien. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again : and 
when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak 
but this. 

Poin. Mark, Jack. 

P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four ; you bound them 
and were masters of their wealth. — Mark now, how a plain tale 
shall put you down. — Then did we two set on you four ; and, 
with a word, out-faced you from your prize, and have it ; yea, 
and can show^ it you here in the house : — and, Falstaff, you 
carried your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and 
roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I lieard bull- 
calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast 
done, and then say it was in fight ! What trick, what device, 
wdiat starting-hole, canst thou now find out to hide thee from 
this open and apparent shame ? 

Poin. Come, let's hear. Jack ; what trick hast thou now? 
Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. 
Why, hear ye, my masters : was it for me to kill the heir- 
apparent ? should I turn upon the true prince ? why, thou 
knowest I am as valiant as Hercules : but beware instinct ; the 
lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter ; 
T was a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself 
and thee during my life ; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a 
true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the 
money. — Hostess, clap to the doors [to Hostess wit/iin^ : — watch 
to-night, pray to-morrow. — Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, 
all the titles of good fellowship come to you ! What, shall we 
be merry ? shall we have a play extempore ? 

P. Hen. Content ; — and the argument shall be thy running 

Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me ! 


Enter Hostess. 
Host. O Jesu, my lord the prince, — 

P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess I what sayest thou 
to me ? 

Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at 
door would speak with you : he says he comes from your 

P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a royal man,^^ 
and send him back again to my mother. 
Fal. What manner of man is he? 
Host. An old man. 

Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight ? Shall I 
give him his answer? 

P. Hen. Prithee, do. Jack. 

Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing. [Ejcit. 

P. Hen. Now, sirs : by'r lady, you fought fair ; so did you, 
Peto ; so did you, Bardolph : you are lions too, you ran away 
upon instinct ; you will not touch the true prince ; no, fie ! 

Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 

P. Hen. Faith, tell me now in earnest, how came FalstafF's 
sword so hacked? 

Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger ; and said he would 
swear truth out of England, but he would make you believe, it 
was done in fight ; and persuaded us to do the like. 

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass to make 
them bleed ; and then to beslubber our garments with it, and 
swear it was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this 
seven year before, — I blushed to hear his monstrous devices. 

P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years 
ago, and wert taken with the manner,*^ and ever since thou hast 
blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, 
and yet thou rannest away : what instinct hadst thou for it ? 

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors ? do you behold 
these exhalations ? 

P. Hen I do. 

Bard. What think you they portend ? 
P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. 
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 

P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. — Here comes lean Jack, 
here comes Bare-bone. 


[act II. sc. IV. 

Be-enter Fal staff. 

How now, iny sweet creature of bombast ! How long is't ago, 
Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee ? 

Fal. My own knee ! when I was about thy years, Hal, I was 
not an eagle's talon in the waist ; I could have crept into any 
alderman's thumb-ring a plague of sighing and grief ! it 
blows a man up like a bladder. — There's villanous news abroad : 
here was Sir John Bracy from your father ; you must to the 
court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the north, 
Percy ; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the bastinado, 
and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman 
upon the cross of a Welsh hook/* — what, a plague, call you 
him ? — 

Pom. O, Glendower. 

Fal. Owen, Owen, — the same ; and his son-in-law Mortimer ; 
and old Northumberland ; and that sprightly Scot of Scots, 
Douglas, that runs o' horseback up a hill perpendicular, — 

P. Hen. He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills 
a sparrow flying. 

Fal. You have hit it. 

P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. 

Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him ; he will not 

P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou, then, to praise him so 
for running ? 

Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo ; but a-foot he will not budge 
a foot. 

P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 

Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. — Well, he is there too, and 
one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more : Worcester is 
stolen away to night ; thy father's beard is turned white with the 
news : you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel. 

P. Hen. Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June, and 
this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy 
hob-nails, by the hundreds. 

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true ; it is like we shall 
have good trading that way. — But tell me, Hal, art thou not 
horribly afeard ? thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick 
thee out three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that 


spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower ? art thou not horrihly 
afraid ? doth not thy blood thrill at it ? 

P. Hen. Not a whit, i' faith ; I lack some of thy instinct. 

Fed. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou 
comest to thy father ; if thou love me, practise an answer. 

P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon 
the particulars of my life. 

Fal. Shall I ? content : — this chair shall be my state, this 
dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown. 

P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre 
for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful 
bald crown ! 

Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now 
shalt thou be moved. — Give me a cup of sack to make mine eyes 
look red, that it may be thought I have w ept ; for I must speak 
in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein.*^ 

P. Hen. Well, here is my leg.^° 

Fal. And here is my speech. — Stand aside, nobility. 

Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith ! 

Fal. Weep not, sweet queen ; for trickling tears are vain. 

Host. O, the father, how he holds his countenance ! 

Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen ; 
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 

Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players 
as ever I see ! 

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot ; peace, good tickle-brain. — Harry, 
I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also 
how thou art accompanied : for though the camomile, tlie 
more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more 
it is wasted, the sooner it wears. Thou art my son, I have 
partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion ; but chiefly 
a villanous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of tliy nether 
lip, that doth warrant me. If, then, thou be son to me, here 
lies the point ; — why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at ? 
Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher,*^ and eat black- 
berries ? a question not to be asked. Shall the son of England 
prove a thief, and take purses ? a question to be asked. There 
is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is 
known to many in our land by the name of pitch : this pitcli, as 
ancient writers do report, dotli defile ; so doth the company thou 
keepest : for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but 
in tears ; not in pleasure, but in passion ; not in words only, but 


KING IIENEY THE EOUHTII. [act it. sc. iv. 

in woes also : — and vet there is a virtuous man wlioni I have 
often noted in thy eonipany, but I know not his name. 

P. Hen. What manner of man, an it Hke your majesty ? 

Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent ; of a 
eheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage ; and, 
as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r lady, inclining to three- 
score ; and now I remember me, his name is FalstafF : if that 
man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me ; for, Harry, I see 
virtue in his looks. If, then, the tree may be known by the 
fruit, as the fruit by tlie tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, 
there is virtue in that FalstafF : him keep with, the rest banish. 
And tell me now, thou naughty varlet. tell me, where hast thou 
been this month ? 

P. HetK Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand forme, 
and ril play my father. 

Fal. Depose me ? if thou dost it half so gravely, so 
majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels 
for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare. 

P. Hen. Well, here I am set. 

Fal. And here I stand : — judge, my masters. 

P. Hen. Now, Harry, whence come you ? 

Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 

P. He7i. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. 

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false : — nay, I'll tickle ye for 
a young prince, i' faith. 

P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er 
look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace : there 
is a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man, — a tun 
of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that 
trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen 
parcel of dropsies, that huge bumbard of sack,*^ that stuffed 
cloak-bag of gvits, that roasted Manningtree ox*^ with the 
joudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that 
father ruffian, that vanity in years ? Wherein is he good, but to 
taste sack and drink it ? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve 
a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein 
crafty, but in villany ? wherein villanous, but in all things ? 
^^herein worthy, but in nothing ? 

Fal. I would your grace would take me with you : whom 
means your grace ? 

P. Hen. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, 
FalstafF, that old white-bearded Satan. 



Fal. My lord, the man I know. 
P. Hen. I know thou dost. 

Fal, But to say I know more harm in him than in myself, 
were to say more than I know. That he is old (the more the 
pity), his white hairs do witness it ; but that he is (saving your 
reverence) a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and 
sugar be a fault, God help the wicked ! if to be old and merry 
be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned : if to 
be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. 
No, my good Lord ; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish 
Pointz : but, for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack FalstafF, true 
Jack FalstafF, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, 
being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's 
company, banish not him thy Harry's company : — banish plump 
Jack, and banish all the world. 

P. Hen. I do, I will. \_A hnocking heard. 

\Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph. 

Re-enter Bardolph, running. 

Bard. O, my lord, my lord ! the sheriff with a most monstrous 
watch is at the door. 

Fal. Out, you rogue ! — Play out the play : I have much to 
say in the behalf of that Falstaff. 

Re-enter Hostess, hastily. 
Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord, — 

P. Hen. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides upon a fiddle-stick -J'^ 
what's the matter? 

Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door : they are 
come to search the house. Shall I let them in ? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? never call a true piece of gold a 
covmterfeit : thou art essentially mad, without seeming so. 

P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. 

Fal. I deny your major : if you will deny the sheriff, so ; if 
not, let him enter : if I become not a cart as well as another 
man, a plague on my bringing up ! I hope I shall as soon be 
strangled with a halter as another. 

P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras : — the rest walk up 
above. Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience. 

IX. J3 

33S KING HENRY THE EOUIIT II. [act ii. sc. iv. 

Fal. Both which I have had ; hut then' date is out, and 
therefore I'll hide me. 

[Exeunt all except the Prinec and Pointz. 
P. lien. Call in the sheriff. 

Enter Sheriff and Carrier. 

Now, master sheriff, what is your will with me ? 

Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry 
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house. 

P. Hen. What men ? 

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord, — 
A gross fat man. 

Car. As fat as butter. 

P. Hen, The man, I do assure you, is not here ; 
For I myself at this time have employ 'd him. 
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee, 
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time. 
Send him to answer thee, or any man, 
For any thing he shall be charg'd withal : 
And so, let me entreat you leave the house. 

Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen 
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 

P. Hen. It may be so : if he have robb'd these men. 
He shall be answerable ; and so, farewell. 

Sher. Good night, my noble lord. 

P. Hen. I think it is good morrow, is it not ? 

Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o' clock. 

[Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier. 

P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go, call 
him forth. 

Poin. Falstaff ! — fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like 
a horse. 

P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his 
pockets. [Pointz searches.^j What hast thou found ? 
Poin. Nothing but papers, my lord. 
P. Hen. Let's see what they be : read them. 
Pom. [7'eads] Item, A capon, . . . .2s. 2d. 

Item, Sauce, ..... 4^/. 

Item, Sack, two gallons,^^ . . bs. Sd. 

Item, Anchovies and sack after suj)per, 2s. Gd. 

Item, Bread, ..... oO. 



P. Hen. O monstrous! but one half-penny worth of bread to this 
intolerable deal of sack ! — What there is else, keep close \ we'll 
read it at more advantage : there let him sleep till day. I'll to 
the court in the morning. We must all to the wars, and thy 
place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge 
of foot ; and, I know, his death will be a march of twelve-score.^^ 
The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with 
me betimes in the morning ; and so good morrow, Peto. 

Feto. Good morrow, good my lord. [Ejcemit. 

^ The yard of the Crown Inn. 

This inn, somewhat modernized, still remains. In the year 1316, one Symond 
Potyn founded the Hospital of St. Katherine, in the Eastgate, Eochester, and in his 
will describes himself as " dwellinge in the inne called the Crown, in Saint Clementes, 
parishe of Eochester." Portions of the ground-floor and basement are of such a 
character that we may with certainty consider them as being a part of the 
residence of the said Symond Potyn, and were probably built in the early part of 
the thirteenth century. Passing through a doorway, which is evidently in the 
situation of the original entrance from the High-street, and descending a flight of 
stone steps, we find ourselves in a vaulted room running north and south, about 
40 feet long, 15 feet broad, and 15 feet high: it is vaulted with three bays of 
vaulting, the arches next the side and end walls springing from flat piers, which 
project beyond the face of the wall. The transverse and the diagonal-arched ribs 
spring out of these piers without capitals of any sort. The ribs are of the Eeigate 
fire-stone ; and the filling in of the vaulted ceiling is of squared chalk. On each 
side of the door from the street is an original window, the sills of which are about 
level with the pavement of the present footpath outside. There appears to have 
been a door or a window, probably the latter, on the west side of the north bay ; 
this possibly looked into another room of the inn. The crown of the arch of this 
vaulted storehouse is about 8 feet above, and the floor about 7 feet below the 
present level of the street. On the west side of the centre bay is a door, from 
which an arched passage leads into a second vault about 18 feet square, the floor 
being on the same level as the last ; but here the height to the crown of the arch 
is not more than 10 feet from the floor. This vault has an octagonal column in 
the centre, so that it is divided and vaulted into four bays, and the whole of the 
details are in accordance with the first-described apartment. There can be no 
doubt these two cellars are of the same date. There is an ancient door on the 
south side of the south-west bay, and a window close to the arched ceiling directly 



opposite to it, Miiicli must at one time have looked into the Ilig'h-street. The 
substructure of the Crown Inn is a large rambling erection, constructed of timber 
and plaster, and of later date than the cellars. The arched gateway, with its 
moulded jambs and carved spandrils, are of the time of Henry VII., and there are 

to be found some moulded beams and minor 
details of the same period in other parts of 
the house. On the eastern side of the Crown 
Inn yard stand some brick buildings, now 
overgrown with ivy ; tliese contain rooms 
which were occupied by Queen Elizabeth on 
the occasion of her visit to Eochester on Sept. 
I8th, A.D. 1573, when she took up her abode 
at the Crown Inn for five days. The present 
stabling is traditionally called Queen Eliza- 
beth's dining-room. In one of the upper 
rooms is a chimney-piece carved in the style 
prevalent in the time of James I. and to which 
period, rather than the days of Elizabeth, I 
should feel inclined to date the building. See 
Eront.— a Baihj. 

Every part of the locality is Shakspearian. 
The massive iron-studded door, the windows, 
the pigeon-houses built in the thick walls, the 
huge arched entrance to the yard, the yard 
itself, bounded by the massive flanking walls 
of the castle, — all are Ehzabethan, and at the 
same time give an impressive feeling somehow 
connected with travel and travellers, carriers 
and gentlemen of the shade, and houses of 
entertainment of the jovial, bustling, good old 
days. There are many curious houses in 
Eochester. The quaint-looking specimens 
which stand on both sides of the High-street 
are not of earlier date than the beginning of the 
sixteenth century. There is a very interesting 
specimen on the east side of the gate of the 
precincts of the cathedral, with which it has 
once communicated by means of an arch in 
the side- wall. One of the apartments gives a 
tolerable notion of a Henry VIII. wainscoted 
room'. The panelling of the sides and the beams of the ceihng are carved with 
foliage and linen panels. The initials W. and A. linked together with a true 
lovers' knot, are probably those of the proprietor and his wife. Eastgate House, in 
the High- street, is one of the most picturesque of those in Eochester. There is a 
house at the south-west end of Crow-lane, opposite to the open piece of land 
called the Vines, w^hich is know^n as the Eestoration House. This is of the time 
of Inigo Jones. Charles II., when he returned to England, after the death of 
Oliver Cromwell, was received at Eochester, on the 28th of May, 1660, when he 
knighted Mr. Francis Clark, who resided in this house. — Anon. 

When the Carrier says that, " Charles' wain is over the new chimney," he 
alludes to the constellation more usually known as the Great Bear. The annexed 



engraving represents a very elegant specimen of a " new chimney " of this period, 
the early part of the fifteenth century. 

" Old of all cess. 

Cess, Sir Thomas Hanmer alters to case ; so consequently the word is not in his 
glossary: we meet with it in that pretix'd to Dr. Sewell's edition of Shakespeare's 
Poems before mention'd, and it is said to mean tax. That is indeed one sense of 
the word, but it cannot be the meaning here. We are told in Arthur Collins's 
Letters and memorials of state in the reigns of queen Elizabeth, king James I., 
&c., " That a stop was put to the hopeful beginnings of the Irish, by the disturbances 
which soon after broke out in Ireland, fomented with arms and money from Ptome 
and Spain ; and especially by the recalling of Sir Henry Sidney, who by the levy- 
ing a cess with a strict hand, and taking away some freedoms and privileges of 
the great Lords of the Pale, had stirred up a powerful faction against him." — Now 
a cess was a proportion of victuals furnished by the country to the soldiers, and to 
the lord Deputy's household, at a rate impos'd by himself, with advice of the privy 
council, and lower than the market price ; so that out of all cess seems here to 
mean, out of a\\ projjortion, out of all measure. — JFarner. 

" Out of all cess," excessively, immoderately. " Sans cesse, excessively, 
immoderately, out of all cesse and crie," Cotgrave. " Overthroweth the Puritans 
out of all cesse," Mar-Prelate's Epitome, p. 49. Herrick, i. 41, appears to have 
the word for assessment, as in Holinshed, Chron. Ireland, p. 145. Cesser, an 
assessor, Hollyband's Dictionarie, 1593. 

^ To give poor jades the lots. 

The hottes is an yll disease, and they lye in a horse mawe; and they be an inch 
long, white coloured, and a reed heed, and as moche as a fyngers ende ; and they be 
quycke and stycke faste in the mawe syde : it apperethe by stampynge of the 
horse or tomblynge ; and in the beginninge there is remedy ynoughe ; and if they 
be not cured betyme, they will eate thorough his mawe and kyll hym. — Fitzherberf s 
Booh of Unshandry. " A bots light upon you," is an imprecation frequently 
repeated in the anonymous play of King Henry Y., as well as in many other okl 
pieces. So, in the ancient black letter interlude of the Disobedient Child, " That 
I wished their bellies full of hottes.'' In Peginald Scott, on Witchcraft, 1584, 
is " a charme for the bots in a horse." — Steevens. 

My masters, the old ancient farriers are of opinion that the guts of a horse doe 
breed three sorts of wormes, that is to say, little short wormes with great red 
heads, and long small white tayles, which wee call bots ; short and thicke wormes 
all of a bignesse like a mans finger, which wee call truncheons ; and great long 
wormes as bigge as a mans finger, and at the least six inches in length, whicli 
wee call by the simple name of wormes onely. Now in mine owne experience and 
all other mens, I finde a fourth sort, which is of a middle size, and are red and 
fiery, with thick, short, sharp heades, and are called poysonous red wormes, and are 
of all other most poysonous and dangerous, for they will ascend up even to the 
throate of the horse, and will choake and kill him, and sometimes they will eate 
through his stomack and so confound him. Now, for mine owne part, I am of 
opinion that the first which are bots, are not bred in the guts but in the stomacke 
onely, because having cut up many horses, I never could yet finde any one hot in 
the guts, yet great store of both the other wormes, nor ever cut up the stomacke 
of a horse, but I found great aboundance of bots, and neither of tlie other 
wormes : whence I am confidently opiniated, that bots are ever bred in the 
stomacke, and both the other sorts of wormes in the a:uts. — Ilarkhains Maisler- 
Peece, 1613. 



* I am siioig like a tench. 

Dr. Farmer thought ie)ich a mistake for tront ; probably alluding to the red 
spots Avitli which the trout is covered, having some resemblance to the spots on 
the skin of a flea-bitten person. — Singer. 

" I am stung like a tench ;" that is as the skin of a tench is of the 
most delicate texture, they are so often stung that the ponds appear bloody. — 

I have either read, or been told, that it was once customary to pack such 
pond-fish as were brought alive to market, in stinging nettles. But writing from 
recollection, and having no proof of this usage to offer, I do not press my 
intelligence on the pubhc. — Steevens. 

Tench. AJdrov. T. Their flesh is not unsweet ; but it yeeldeth impure and 
illaudable aliment, and often hurtful ; also physitiaus count it feaverish, feeding 
on, and living in dirty places : and they are hardly concocted and of bad juyce. — 
Loveirs History of Animals and Minerals, 1661. 

^ TJiey will alloio iis ne'er ajordan. 

A Jordan was a kind of pot or vessel used by physicians and alchymists, of the 
form represented in the accompanying figure, which is taken from 
the margin of a receipt in a Sloane MS. The word is used in 
this sense by Chaucer and other writers of that age. At a later 
period it was used in the sense of a chamber-pot, as in the present 
passage. It appears from a passage in the comedy of the London 
Chaunticleres, 1659, that jordans were placed in the rooms of 
taverns for the use of the guests. 

A curious tale, illustrative of this filthy habit, occurs in 
Heywood's Philocothonista, or the Drunkard Opened, 1635, — 
" A company of drunkards, having tost the cans all the night long, even till the 
day breake in the morning, one of them risetli from the table reeling, with a 
purpose to pisse in the chimney ; and having let something fall upon the hartb, 
and stooping, thinking to take it up, when he raised himselfe, his head was got 
within the mantle-tree, wliich he perceived not, but having made an end of that 
which he went to doe, and being something tall of stature, he made proffer to 
come away, and first walked from one end of the chimney to the other, then backe 
againe, and felt about with his hands, but could find no way out, at which he 
began to blesse himselfe, and wonder where he w^as, and in his devotion casting 
up his eyes, he perceived a light above, for it was then day, by which he presently 
apprehended that he was fallen into a w^ell ; but seeing by the distance betwixt 
him and it, it was so deepe that there was no possibility for him to get out 
without helpe, hee began to bee in despaire ; and as hee was musing what hee 
should doe, hee heard them laughing and talking in the roome, which he 
supposed were some above that passed by the well's mouth upon businesse, and 
not willing to loose that opportunity, hee call'd out aloud, ' Helpe, helpe, ladders, 
ropes! helpe, helpe! I am fallen into the well!' The rest, wondring by the 
hollownesse of his voyce whence the noyse should come, for the clamor ascended 
upward, at length by his strugling and striving perceived him to be in the 
chimney, and so in the stead of pulling to draw him up, they jjluckt him out by 
the leggs below." 

The annexed engraving represents an interesting specimen of a chimney-piece 


of the early part of the fifteenth century, perhaps one of the best still remaining 
in this country. 

® Tour chamber-Ue breeds Jleas Wee a loach. 

The loach is a very small fish, but so exceedingly prolific, that it is seldom 
found without spawn in it ; and it was formerly a practice for the young gallants 
to swallow loaches in wine, not merely in order to shew their dexterity, but 
because loaches were considered as invigorating, and as apt to communicate their 
prolific quality. The carrier therefore means to say, " that your chamber-lie 
breeds fleas as fast as a loach breeds," not fleas but loaches. So in As You Like 
It, Jacques says, " that he can suck melancholy out of a song as a weazel sucks 
eggs," but he does not mean that the weazel sucks eggs out of a song, but, as 
fast and readily : it is as natural to or for me to do so, as it is for a weazel, &c. 
So " they flattered me UJce a dog," Lear. And in Troilus and Cressida, where 
Nestor says that Thersites is, " A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint," he 
means, that his gall coined slanders as fast as a mint coined money. — Mason. 

It appears from a passage in Holland's translation of Pliny's Nat. Hist. b. ix. 
c. xlvii. that anciently fishes were supposed to be infested with fleas. " Last of 
all some fishes there be which of themselves are given to breed fleas and lice ; 
among which the chalcis, a kind of turgot, is one." Again, in the same work, — 
" In summe, what is there not bred within the sea ? Even the verie fleas that skip so 
merrily in summer time within victualling houses and innes, and bite so shrowdly : 
as also lice that love best to live close under the haire of our heads, are there 
engendred and to be found : for many a time the fishers twitch up their hookes, 
and see a number of these skippers and creepers settled thick about their baits 
which they laid for fishes. And this vermin is thought to trouble the poore 
fishes in their sleep by night within the sea, as well as us on land." 

A passage in Coriolanus likewise may be produced in support of the 
interpretation here given : " — and he no more remembers his mother, than an 
eight -year- old horse ;" i. e. than an eight-year-old horse rememhers his dam. I 
entirely agree with Mr. M. Mason in his explanation of this passage, and, before 
I had seen his Comments, had in the same manner interpreted a passage in As 

IX. M 



You Like It. One priiicii)al source of error in tlie interpretation of many passages 
in our author's plays lias been the supposing that his similes were intended to 
correspond exactly on both sides. — Maloae. 

And two razes of (jhiger. 

As our author in several passages mentions a race of ginger, I thought 
])roper to distinguish it from the raze mentioned here. The former signifies no 
more than a single root of it ; but a raze is the Indian term for a hale of it. — 

A dainty race of ginger is mentioned in Ben Jonson's Masque of the Gipsies 
j\[ctamorphosed. The late Mr. "Warner observed to me, that a single root or race 
of ginger, were it brought home entire, as it might formerly have been, and not 
in small pieces, as at present, would have been sufficient to load a pack-horse. 
He quoted Sir Hans Sloane's Introduction to his History of Jamaica, in support 
of his assertion ; and added " that he could discover no authority for the word 
raze in the sense appropriated to it by Theobald." — Steevens. 

This notice was no doubt suggested by Derick's accusation of the thief in the 
play of the Famous Victories, — " he hath beaten and wounded my packe, and 
liath taken the great race of ginger that bouncing Besse with the jolly buttocks 
should have had." 

Theobald pretends that this differs from race of ginger, which means only a 
root, whereas this means a bale or package. We cannot but suppose that these 
which were parcels, to be delivered by a carrier, were more than the small pieces 
commonly called races of ginger ; but I cannot believe that the words are really 
different. Both must be derived from the Spanish ragz, meaning a root, and 
might be applied indifferently to small pieces, or large packages. As for the 
magnitude of a single root, alledged by Warner, I believe it to be a mistake. 
Malone has very properly remarked that Dr. Grew, in the Philosophical 
Transactions, speaks of a single root of ginger, as uncommonly large, which 
weighed only fourteen ounces. In the passage above quoted, it is not necessary 
to suppose the carriers quite accurate in their expression. — Nares. 

* No long-staff, sixpenny strikers. 

A striker had some cant signification with which at present we are not exactly 
acquainted. It is used in several of the old plays. I rather believe in this place, 
'no six-penny striker' signifies, 'not one who would content himself to borrow, 
that is, rob you for the sake of six-pence.' That to borrow was the cant phrase for 
to steal, is well known ; and that to strike likewise signified to borrow, let the 
following passage in Shirley's Gentleman of Venice confirm : 

Cor. You had best assault me too. 
Mai. I must borrow money, 
And that some call a striking, &c. 

Again, in Glapthorne's Hollander, 1640 : — " The only shape to hide a striker 
in." Again, in an old MS. play entitled, the Second Maiden's Tragedy : 

one that robs the mind. 

Twenty times worse than any highway striker. 

In Greene's Art of Coney catching, 1592, under the table of Cant Expressions 
used by Thieves : " — the cutting a pocket or picking a purse, is called striking.'' 
Again : " — who taking a proper youth to be his prentice, to teach him the order 
of striking and foisting." See, also, the London Prodigal, 1605, — "Nay, now I 
have had such a fortunate beginning, I'll not let a sixpenny purse escape me." — 



^ Great oneijers. 

The term onei/ers lias been conjecturally altered to seigneurs ; ones — yes ; 
Pope interprets this oneraires — trustees or commissioners ; Theobald, moneijers ; 
Hanmer, owners; Hardinge, moniers — mintmen ; Capell, mynheers; Malone, 
onyers, public accountants. Johnson has hit upon the right explanation, although 
he advances it with considerable hesitation. " 1 know not," says he, " whether 
any change is necessary ; Gadshill tells the chamberlain that he is joined with no 
mean wretches, but with burgomasters and great ones, or, as he terms them in 
merriment, by a cant termination, great oneyers, or, great one-eers — as we say 
privateer, auctioneer, circuiteer. This is, I fancy, the whole of the matter." 

That great ones is all that is meant is proved by the constant occurrence of 
that phrase in contemporary writers. There is a common vulgarism, great one-ers, 
meaning, people who are very energetic and influential, which may be compared 
with the expression in the text. 

" Perhaps, one-raires, trustees, or commissioners ;" says Pope. But how this 
word comes to admit of any such construction, I am at a loss to know. To Pope's 
second conjecture, " of cunning men that look sharp, and aim well," I have nothing 
to reply seriously; but choose to drop it. Tlie reading which I have substituted 
[money ers) I owe to the friendship of the ingenious Nicholas Hardinge, Esq. A 
moneyer is an officer of the Mint, who makes coin, and delivers out the king's 
money. Moneyers are also taken for bankers, or those that make it their trade 
to turn and return money. Either of these acceptations will admirably square 
with our author's context. — Theohatd. 

By moneyers he means mint-men, in which sense it is used by Chaucer, 
Eomaunt of the Eose, 6811 : — 

But se what golde han usurers 
And silver eke in their garners, 
Talagiers, and these monioiirs. 

" Moniers, Monetarii, Eegist. orig. fol. 262, 6 anno Edw. VI. cap. 15, be 
monisters of the mint which make and coin the king's money. It appearetli from 
antiquity, that in ancient times our kings of England had mints in most of the 
counties of the realm. And in the tract of the Exchequer written by Ocham, is 
found, that whereas the sherilfes ordinarily were tied to pay into the Exchequer 
the kings sterling for such debts as they were to answer, they of Northumberland 
and Cumberland were at liberty to pay in any sort of money, so it were silver ; 
and the reason is there given, because these two shires monetarios de antiqua, 
institntione non liahentT — Minsheu's Guide into Tongues, col. 473. — Grey. 

Hardinge's conjecture may be supported by an ancient authority, and is 
probably right: " — there is a house upon Page Greene, next unto the round tuft 
of trees, sometime in the tenure and occupation of Simon Bolton, Monger ;'' i. e. 
probably hanJcer, Description of Tottenham High-Cross, 1631. — Beed. 

Perhaps Shakespeare wrote — onyers, that is, puhlich accountants; men possessed 
of large sums of money belonging to the state. — It is the course of the Court of 
Exchequer, when the sheriff makes up his accounts for issues, amerciaments, and 
mesne profits, to set upon his head a. ni. which denotes oneratur, nisi habeat 
sufficienteni exonerationem : he thereupon becomes the king's debtor, and the 
parties peravaile (as they are termed in law) for whom he answers, become his 
debtors, and are discharged as with respect to the King. To settle accounts 
in this manner, is still called in the Exchequer, to ony; and from hence Shakespeare 
perhaps formed the word onyers.- — The Chamberlain had a little before mentioned, 
among the travellers whom he thought worth plundering, an officer of the 
Exchequer, " a kind of auditor, one that hath abundance of charge too, God 



knows what." Tliis emendation may derive some support from what Gadshill 
says in the next scene : " There's money of the king's coming down the hill ; 'tis 
going to the king's Exchequer." The first quarto has — oiicyrcs, which the second 
and all the subsequent copies made onci/ers. The original reading gives great 
probability to Ilanmer's conjecture. — Malone. 

Oneijers; out of which the third modern has coin'd Moncyers, the title (as we 
are told) of an officer employ'd in the mint. Without misspending time any 
further about a word so unfit for the character whose mouth he has put it in, the 
causes of the present correction shall be exhibited briefly : — the first, the word's 
obvious connection with huiu/omasters; it's suitableness to the occasion, and 
character ; and lastly, the likeness between this corruption of it oneyres, and one 
that may be seen in the Merry Wives of Windsor, where the change is 
indisputable, no other word having any probable claim to the place which it there 
occupies. Tranquillity, in the sentence preceding, means, persons at their ease ; 
and the import of that which follows mynheers, is — such as won't be thrown out 
of their play, hold in being a phrase among gamesters. — Capell. 

Such as can hold in. 

According to the specimen given us in this play, of this dissolute gang, we 
have no reason to think they were less ready to drink than speak. Besides, it is 
plain, a natural gradation was here intended to be given of their actions, relative 
to one another. But what has speaking, drinhing, oxi^ ^naying io) y^vih one 
another ? We should certainly read thinh in both places instead of drinh ; and 
then we have a very regular and humourous climax. They icill strike sooner than 
speak ; and speak sooner than think ; and think sooner than pray. By which 
last words is meant, that " though perhaps they may now and then reflect on their 
crimes, they will never repent of them." The Oxford editor has dignified this 
correction by his adoption of it. — Warhurton. 

I am in doubt about this passage. There is yet a part unexplained. What 
is the meaning of such as can hold in? It cannot mean such as can keep their 
own secret, for they will, he says, sjjeak sooner than think : it cannot mean such 
as tcill go calmly to work idthout unnecessary violence, such as is used by long- 
staff -strikers, for the following part will not suit with this meaning ; and though 
we should read by transposition such as will speak sooner than strike, the climax 
will not proceed regularly. I must leave it as it is. — Johnson. 

Such as can hold in, may mean such as can curb old father antick the law, or 
such as will not blab. — Stecrens. 

Turbervile's Book on Hunting, 1575, p. 37, mentions huntsmen on horseback 
to make young hounds " hold in and close" to the old ones : so Gadshill may 
mean, that he is joined with such companions as will hold in, or keep and stick 
close to one another, and such as are men of deeds, and not of words ; and yet 
they love to talk and speak their mind freely better than to drink.— Toilet. 

I think a gradation was intended, as Dr. Warburton supposes. To hold in, I 
believe, meant to ' keep their fellows' counsel and their own ;' not to discover their 
rogueries by talking about them. So, in Twelfth Night : " — that you will not 
extort from me, what I am wilHng to keep in." Gadshill, therefore, I suppose, 
means to say, that he keeps company with steady robbers ; such as will not 
impeach their comrades, or make any discovery by talking of what they have done; 
men that will strike the traveller sooner than talk to him ; that yet would sooner 
speak to him than drink, which might intoxicate them, and put them off their 
guard ; and, notwithstanding, would prefer drinking, however dangerous, to prayer, 
which is the last thing they would think of. — The words, however, will admit a 
different interpretation. AYe have often in these plays, "it were as good a deed 



as to drink." Perhaps therefore the meaning may be, — Men who will knock the 
traveller down sooner than speak to him ; who yet will speak to him and bid him 
stand, sooner than drink ; to which they are sufficiently well inclined ; and lastly, 
who will drink sooner than pray. Here indeed the climax is not regular ; but 
perhaps our author did not intend it should be preserved. — Malone. 

We have the receipt of fern-seed. 

Fern is one of those plants which have their seed on the back of the leaf so 
small as to escape the sight. Those who perceived that fern was propagated by 
semination, and yet could never see the seed, were much at a loss for a solution of 
the difficulty ; and as wonder always endeavours to augment itself, they ascribed 
to fern-seed many strange properties, some of which the rustic virgins have not 
yet forgotten or exploded. — Johnson. 

This circumstance relative to fern-seed is alluded to in B. and Eletclier's Fair 
Maid of the Inn : — 

had you Gyges' ring, 

Or the herb that gives invisibility ? 

Again, in Ben Jonson's New Inn : 
1 had 

No medicine, sir, to go invisible, 
No fern-seed in ray pocket. 

Again, in P. Holland's translation of Phny, book xxvii. ch. ix. : " Of feme 
be two kinds, and they beare neither floure nor seeded — Steevens. 

The ancients, who often paid more attention to received opinions than to the 
evidence of their senses, believed that fern bore no seed. Our ancestors imagined 
that this plant produced seed which was invisible. Hence, from an extraordinary 
mode of reasoning, founded on the fantastic doctrine of signatures, they concluded 
that they who possessed the secret of wearing this seed about them would become 
invisible. This superstition the good sense of the poet taught him to ridicule. 
It was also supposed to seed in the course of a single night, and is called in Browne's 
Britannia's Pastorals, 1613 : — 

The wond'rous one-night-seeding feme. 

Absurd as these notions are, they were not wholly exploded in the time of 
Addison. He laughs at " a doctor who was arrived at the knowledge of the green 
and red dragon, and had discovered the female fern-seed,'''' Tatler, No. 240. — 
Holt White. 

Gadshill's brag is one of the many instances of Shakespeare's ready application 
of an ignorant notion of the age. Evidently ferns were propagated by seed, but 
as none could be discerned, it was deemed existent but invisible, and ignorance, 
which sometimes is great in invention, added other mysterious qualities until the 
fern played an important part in rural superstitions. The fact is that florescence 
and semination are perfected on the under side of the leaves. Those who in 
other days noticed the very evident indications of the process were apt to account 
them tokens of disease ; rust spots ! The difficulty and danger with which it 
could only be obtained, apparently tended much to enhance its magical value in 
the estimation of the cabalist. It was to be gathered, after solemn fasting, and 
the performance of mystic ceremonies now unknown, on Midsummer Eve, at the 
very instant at which the Baptist's birth took place. The spiritual world was 
arrayed in fierce hostility against the daring gatherer. The fairies used every 
effort to preserve it from human possession, with an inveteracy which showed what 
high value they put upon it. As to the danger resulting from their hostility, 
Bichard Bo vet, in his Fandceinonium (p. 217., London, 1684), gives curious 




evidence : — " Much discourse hath been about gathering of fern-seed (which is 
looked upon as a magical herb) on the night of Midsummer Eve ; and I remember 
1 was told of one who went to gather it, and the spirits whisk't by his ears like 
bullets*, and sometimes struck his hat, and other parts of his body : in fine, though 
he a})prehended he had gotten a quantity of it, and secured it in papers, and a box 
besides, when he came home he found all empty. But, most probable, this 
appointing of times and hours is of the devil's own institution, as well as the fast; 
that having once ensnared people to an obedience to his rules, he may with more 
facility oblige them to stricter vassalage." — Anon. 

Some appear to have suspected from their never finding fern exhibiting 
anything like what is commonly called seed, that the assertion of their becoming 
invisible who could gather it, was merely made to induce the credulous to engage 
in a vain search. Thus in a curious work, entitled Athenian Sport, 1707, I find 
it insinuated that the idea of fern having seed is only imaginary : — 

Who would believe what strange bugbears 

Mankind creates itself of fears ? 

That spring, like fern, that insect weed. 

Equivocally without seed ; 

And have no possible foundation. 

But merely in th' imagination. 

Others did not directly deny the existence of this plant's seed, but from their 
not finding what they would consider as such, concluded that it was, therefore, 
very scarce. Culpepper, writing of fern, " the seed of which," he observes, " some 
authors hold to be so rare," says, " such a thing there is, I know, and may be 
easily had upon Midsummer eve, and, for aught I know, two or three days after it, 
if not more." It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to state, that though ferns are 
flowerless, destitute of those reproductive organs, called pistil and stamen, which 
the higher classes of plants possess, and also destitute of what we should regard as 
seed by comparison with that of fiowering plants, yet they have attached to the 
under sides of their leaves (or to speak botanically, their fronds), at a certain 
season numerous dust-like particles wdiich are analogous to seeds, as each distinct 
particle will produce a fern like its parent. — Fennell. 

To goe invisible. — Take a blacke catt, and kill her yn March, and take oute 
the harte of her, and cut yt and set a beane yn the midste of yt and set yt yn the 
grounde yn March the moone yncreasinge, and the sayd beane will grow and beare 
fine rods, and yn June they wilbe rype; then gather them and shale them, and 
putt them yn thy mouth one by one, and when thow hast the righte beane, thow 
shalte not see thy face yn thie glasse and then thow arte invisible, and goe where 
thow wilte, and prayse God. 

Another way. — Kill a raven and bury him, then walke by the place within v. 
or vj. yeardes of, untill a certayne man walke by thee havinge a cappe on his bed, 
then say unto him, change my rose for thy cappe ; then will he take aw^ay the 
raven and leave his cappe, wherewith vou may goe invisible. — Br. Cains' 
Magical MS. 

^~ Bardolph. 

Bardolph was not an unusual name in the fifteenth century. A canonier so 
named served in Normandy in the year 1435. There Avas a William Bardolph 
who held a military office at Calais in 1410; and Bardolph, an engineer, is 
mentioned in a register of Ely monastery. 



To colt me thus. 

Is to fool, to trick ; but the prince taking it in another sense, opposes it by 
imcolt, that is, unhorse. In the first of these senses it is used by Nashe, in Have 
With You to Saffron Waklen, &c. 1596 : " His master fretting and chaffing to be 
thus coiled of both of them," &c. Again, in Beaumont and Fletcher's Loyal 
Subject : " What, are we bobbed thus still ? colled and carted ?" From Decker's 
Bell-man's Night- Walkes, &c, 1616, it appears that the technical term for any 
inn-keeper or hackney-man who had been cheated of horses, was a colt. — 

^* No, ye fat chuffs. 

This term of contempt is always applied to rich and avaricious people. So, in 
the Muses' Looking Glass, 1638 : — 

the chuff's crowns, 

Imprison'd in his rusty chest, &c. 

The derivation of the word is said to be uncertain. Perhaps it is a corruption 
of chough, a thievish bird that collects his prey on the sea-shore. So, in Chaucer's 
Assemble of Eoules : — 

The thief the chough, and eke the chatt'ring pie. 

Sir W. D'Avenant, in his Just Italian, 1630, has the same term : 

They're rich choughs, they've store 
Of villages and plough'd earth. 

And Sir Epicure Mammon, in the Alchemist, being asked who had robbed 
him, answers, " a kind of chough, sir." — Steevens. 

The name of the Cornish bird is pronounced by the natives chow. Clmff is 
the same word with cuff, both signifying a clown, and being in all probability 
derived from a Saxon word of the latter sound. — Bitson. 

The thieves have hound the true men. 

In the old plays a true man is always set in opposition to a thief. So, in the 
ancient Morality called Hycke Scorner, bl. 1. no date : 

And when me list to hang a true man — 
Theves I can help out of pry son. 

Again, in the Eour Prentices of London, 1615 : — " Now, true man, try if thou 
canst rob a thief." Again : — " Sweet wench, embrace a true man, scorn a thief' 
— Sleevens. 

The covetous carle doth scrape for coyne ; 

The royotous sonne spendes all : 
The true man cannot scape the theefe, 

He in his handes must fall. 

The Forrest of Fancy, 4to. Lond. 1579. 

At one time, in one and the same ranke, yea, foote by foote, apd elbow by 
elbow, shall you see walking the knight, the gidl, the gallant, the upstart, the 
gentleman, the clowne, the captaine, the appel-squire, the lawyer, the usurer, tlie 
citizen, the bankerout, the scholler, the beggar, the doctor, the ideot, the ruffian, 
the cheater, the puritan, the cut-throat, the hye men, the low men, the true man, and 
the thiefe ; of all trades and professions some, of all countryes some. Thus whilest 
Devotion kneeles at her prayers, doth Profanation walke under her nose in 
contempt of religion. — BecJcers Bead Terme. 



Note if one kil a true man, in defence of his person, there ought to be so great 
a necessity, that it must bee esteemed to be inevitable, or otherwise it will not 
excuse, but it is felony although that the other pursues him : and therefore he that 
shall bee assaulted by a tnie man, must first flie as farre as he can, and till he be 
letted by some wall, hedge, ditch, presse of people, or other impediment ; so as he 
can llie no further without danger of his life, or of being wounded or maimed : 
and yet in such a case if he kill the other, he shall be committed till the time of 
his triall, and must then get his pardon for his life and his lands, (which pardon 
notwithstanding he shall have of course) but he shall lose and forfeit his goods and 
chattels, for the great regard which the law hath of a mans life. — Baltoiis Coun- 
trey Justice, 1020. 

I could hrahi Mm with his ladijs fan. 

Edwards observes, in his Canons of Criticism, " that the ladies in our author's 
time wore fans made of feathers." See Ben Jonson's Every Man out of his 

Humour. — " This feather grew in her sweet/^f^ 
sometimes, tho' now it be ray poor fortune to wear 
it." So again, in Cynthia's Eevels, 

for a garter. 

Or the least featlier in her bounteous fan. 

Again, as Whalley observes to me, in Beau- 
mont and Eletclier's Wit at several Weapons, 

Wer't not better 

Your head were broke with the handle of a fan ? — 


This passage ought to be a memento to all 
commentators, not to be too positive about the 
customs of former ages. Edwards has laughed 
unmercifully at Warburton for supposing that 
Hotspur meant to brain the Earl of March with the handle of his lady's fan, instead 
of the feathers of it. The lines quoted by Whalley show that the supposition 
was not so wild a one as Edwards conceived. — Malone. 

How noto, Kate ? 

Shakespeare either mistook the name of Hotspur's wife, (which was not 
Katharine, but Elizabeth^ or else designedly changed it, out of the remarkable 
fondness he seems to have had for the familiar appellation of Kate, which he is 
never weary of repeating, when he has once introduced it ; as in this scene, the 
scene of Katharine and Petruchio, and the courtship between King Henry V. and 
the French Princess. The wife of Hotspur was the Lady Elizabeth Mortimer, 
sister to Eoger Earl of March, and aunt to Edmund Earl of March, who is 
introduced in this play by the name of Lord Mortimer. — Steevens. 

The sister of Eoger Earl of March, according to Hall, was called Eleanor : 
" This Edmonde was sonne to Erie Eoger, — which Edmonde at King Eicharde's 
going into Ireland was proclaimed heire apparent to the realme; whose aunt, 
called Elinor, this lord Henry Percy had married," Chron. fol. 20. So also, 
Holinshed. But both these historians were mistaken, for her christian name 
undoubtedly was Elizabeth. — Jfalone. 

A hanish^d woman from my Harry's hed. 

It is a remarkable circumstance that the real Lady Percy, the Countess of 
Northumberland, of Shakespeare's own time, was married to a morose and 



uucongenial person, and that she was more than once " a banished woman from 
her Harry's bed." Thus Manningham, in the Diary which was the means of 
letting- in so much light on another of these plays, under the date 1603, November 
6, — "I heard that the Earl of Northumberland lives apart again from his lady, 
now she hath brought him an heir, which he said was the soder of their reconcile- 
ment. She lives at Sion house with the child, and plays with it, being otherwise 
of a very melancholic spirit." The audience could not fail to perceive the 
parallelism ; and, as the lady was the sister of the Earl of Essex, it is more than 
probable that Shakespeare intended that they should do so, and that he has made 
Lady Percy in this play so peculiarly amiable, and so full of conjugal affection, as 
a means of engaging the public sympathy for the Lady Percy (Countess of 
Northumberland) of his own time. That the character of the Earl of Northum- 
berland, to whom she was united, was deficient in the amiable and the gallant, is 
manifested by the " Instructions " which he left to his son : a manuscript now at 
Petworth, lately printed in the Archseologia, the valuable contribution of Mr. 
Markland. — Hunter. 

Away, you trijler ! 

This, I think, would be better thus: — "Hot. Away, you trifler! — Lady. 
Love ! — Hot. I love thee not. — This is no world," &c. — Johnson. 

The alteration proposed by Dr. Johnson seems unnecessary. The passage, as 
now regulated, appears to me perfectly clear. — The first love is not a substantive, 
but a verb : — " love [thee /] — I love thee not." 

Hotspur's mind being intent on other things, his answers are irregular. He 
has been musing, and now replies to what Lady Percy had said some time hefore : 

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 
And I must know it, — else he loves me not. 

In a subsequent scene this distinguishing trait of his character is particularly 
mentioned by the Prince of Wales, in his description of a conversation between 
Hotspur and Lady Percy: "O my sweet Harry, (says she,) how many hast thou 
killed to-day ? Give my roan horse a drench, (says he, and answers,) — some four- 
teen, — an hour after." — Ilalone. 

^° To play with mammets. 

Mammets, that is, puppets. So Stubbs, speaking of ladies drest in the fashion, 
says : " they are not natural, but artificial women, not women of flesh and blood, 
but Ydii\\QY 2itippefs or mammets, consisting of ragges and clowts compact together." 
So, in the old comedy of Every Woman in her Humour, 1609 : " — I have seen 
the city of new Nineveh, and Julius Caesar, acted by mammets.''^ Again, in the 
ancient romance of Virgilius, " — he made in that compace all the goddes that 
we call maicmets and ydoUes." Mammet is perhaps a corruption of Mahomet. 
Througliout the English translation of Marco Paolo, 1579, Mahometans and other 
worshippers of idols are always called Mahomets and Mahmets. Holinshed's 
History of England, p. 108, speaks of " mawmets and idols." This last conjecture 
and quotation is from Mr. Toilet. I may add, that Hamlet seems to have the 
same idea when he tells Ophelia, that " he could interpret between her and her 
love, if he saw the puppets dallying." — Steevens. 

We charge the prelatical clergy with popery, to make them odious, though we 
know they are guilty of no such thing ; just as heretofore they called images 
mammets, and the adoration of images mammetry : that is, mahomef and 
mahometry, odious names ; when all the world knows the Turks are forbidden 
images by their religion. Seldens Table Tall-, Art. Popery. — Bosicell. 





*' A room in the Boars Head Tavern. 

There is no distinct authority, in any of the early editions, for the name of the 
tavern in Eastcheap at which the Prince and EalstafF are supposed to meet. 
Theobald was the first, in 1733, to place the name of the Boar's Head Inn in the 
stage-direction. Shakespeare never mentions that tavern at all, and the only 
possible allusion to it is in the Second Part of Henry the Fourth, where the 
Prince asks, speaking of Palstaff, — "doth the old boar feed in the old frank?" 
xV suggestion of the locality may also be possibly intended in Richard the Second, 
where the Prince is mentioned as frequenting taverns that " stand in narrow lanes." 
In the play of the Famous Victories, the Castle Tavern is the inn which is 
mentioned as the place of meeting in Eastcheap. The earliest notice of the Boar's 
Head occurs in the testament of William Warden, who, in the reign of Eichard 
II., gave " all that his tenement, called the Boar's Head, Eastcheap, to a college of 
priests or chaplains, founded by Sir William Walworth, lord mayor, in the 
adjoining church of St. Michael, Crooked Lane." The endowments of this college 
were forfeited to the crown in 1549, in which year the tenement above alluded to 
is described as " all his the said Walter Morden's tenement, called the Boar's 
Head in Eastcheap, worth by year £4h." Stowe, mentioning the affray of the 
King's sons in Eastcheap, adds, in a marginal note, " there was no taverne then 
in Eastcheape." The Boar's Head is first mentioned as a tavern in the year 1537, 
when it is expressly demised in a lease as" all that tavern called the Bores Hedde, 
cum cellariis sollariis et aliis suis pertinentiis in Estchepe, in parochia Sancti 
Micliaelis pra3dicti, in tenura Johannge Broke, viduse." About the year 1588, the 
inn was kept by one Thomas Wright, a native of Shrewsbury. " Thear was chosen 
withe me, at that time, out of the school, George Wrighte, sun of Thomas AVrighte 
of London, vintener, that dwelt at the Bore's Hed in Estcheap, who sithence, 
having good enheritance descended to him, is now clerk of the king's stable and 
a knighte, a verye discreet and honest gentlcjuan," Liber Famelicus of Sir James 
AVhitelocke, sub anno 1588. In the year 1623 was buried at St. Michael's, 
Crooked Lane, ''John Bhodoway, vintner att the Bores Head, 1623." This 
person may have kept the tavern in Shakespeare's time, to which period may be 

ascribed the interesting fragment of a glass, here 
engraved, which belonged to the late Mr. Crofton 
Croker, and is accompanied by the following certifi- 
cate, it having been found when the Boar's Head 
was pulled down to make way for the new London 
Bridge, — " Fragment of an ancient drinking-glass 
found in a cellar of the Boar's Head tavern. East- 
cheap, which had not been disturbed since 1666. 
Given by AVilliam Knight, esq., F.S.A., 1831.— 

The inn is thus alluded to by one of Shakespeare's 
contemporaries in a curious play, the Shoo-maker's 
Holyday or the Gentle Craft, — " Ei/re. Stay, my 
fine knaves, you armes of my trade, you pillars of 
my proffession. What, shall a tittle-tattles word make you forsake Simon Eyre ? 
Avaunt, kitchinstufFe, rippe you browne-bread tannikin, out of my sight, move me 
not, have not I tane you from selling tripes in Eastcheape, and set you in my shop, 
and make you haile fellow with Simon Eyre the Shoomaker? and now doe you 
deale thus with my journey-men ? Looke, you powder-beefe Queane, on the face 
of Hodge ; here's a face for a Lord. — Firke. And here's a face for any Lady in 
Christendome. — Eyre. Eip, you chitterhng, avaunt, boy; bid the tapster of the 



Bores-liead fill me a doozen Cannes of beere for my journey-men. — Firlce. A doozen 
Cannes ? O brave Hodg-e, now I'le stay. — Eyre. And the knave fills any more 
than two, he payes for them a doozen Cannes of beere for my journey-men ; here 
you mad Mesopotamians, wash your livers with this liquor, where be the odde ten ? 
no more, Madge, no more ; well said, drinke and to works ; what worke dost thou, 
Hodj^e ? what worke ?" 

The Boar's Head, observes Mr. Cunningham, " stood in Great Eastcheap, 
between Small-alley and St. Michael's- 
lane, four taverns filling up the inter- 
vening space — ' The Chicken,' near St. 
Michael's alley, ' The Boar's Head,' 
' The Plough,' and ' The Three Kings.' 
The back part of the house looked upon 
the burying-ground of St. Michael's, 
Crooked-lane." In 1660, the inn was 
kept by a person of the name of Hester, 
as appears from the following entry in the 

register of burials for St. Michael's, Crooked Lane, — " William Heathcott, servant 
to Mr. Hester, the vintner att the Boares Head, 1660." Within a few years of 
this period, it had owned another master, for a token of'* the Bores Head Taverne 
in Great East Cheap," surmounted by the letters, I. I. B., was issued about this 
time. About the year 1670, the tavern was kept by one John Sapcott, whose 
token bears the inscription of, " John Sapcott at the Bores Hed Taverne in Great 
Eastcheap, his penny, L E. S.," a boar's head in the field. Another landlord, at 
some time after this date, is mentioned in a curious poem, the Last Search after 
Claret in Southwark, 1691, — 

Ay, says L — e, who in East-cheap once liv'd at Boars-Head, 

Let all men by me scorn the wine-selling trade ; 

AVith the slipry whore Fortune in England I dealt, 

And in Holland I found her the very same jilt ; 

She has tost me about like a dog in a blanket ; 

Had my fate been but kind, I should gladly have thank it. 

Come, a pox of all sorrow and dull heavy thinking ! 

Let us chear up our spirits by musick and drinking. 

The Boar's Head continued to be a tavern up to a comparatively recent period. 
Maitland notices it in 1756, observing that there was a statement under the sign 
that, "this is the oldest tavern in London." Goldsmith had visited it in 1758, 
mistaking it for the original Shakesperian building. On each side of the door- 
way was a vine-branch, carved in wood, rising more than three feet from the 
ground, loaded with leaves and clusters; and on the top of each a little FalstafF, 
eight inches high, in the dress of his day ; such as was to be seen at Covent 
garden, by his faithful representative, Henderson. Northwick notices it as an inn 
in 1772, but some years before 1790 it had ceased to be so used, as appears from 
the account of it by Pennant, published in that year. The tavern was at some 
time subsequently to 1772 divided into two tenements, and these were finally 
demolished, in 1831, in forming the approaches to the new London Bridge. The 
verv site is unmarked, but it is at some little distance to the west of the statue of 
William lY. 

There were several other inns and tenements in London known by the name 
of the Boar's Head. Curiously enough, though the coincdence is accidental, Sir 
John Eastolf, not EalstafP, owned a house in the borough of Southwark so called, 
which tenement he devised to Magdalen College, Oxford. Among the records in 



tlio imiuiment room at Warwick Castle is an early lease relating to a tenement in 
llic metropolis called the lioar's Head, situated not far from the Globe Theatre. 
In 1557, the Boar's Head, Aldgate, was the scene of a dramatic performance; 
and a theatre so called, or perhaps an inn used temporarily by tlie actors, is 
mentioned in a curious document of James I., — " Knowe yee that wee, of our 
speciall grace, certaine knowledge, and mere motion, have lycensed and authorised, 
and by these presentes doe lycence and authorise Thomas Greene, Christopher 
Beeston, Thomas Hawood, Richard Pyrkins, llobert Pallant, John Duke, Thomas 
Swynerton, James Holt, llobert Beeston, and llobert Lee, servauntes unto our 
dearest wyfe the Queene Anna, with the rest of there associates, freely to use and 
exercise the art and faculty of playinge comedies, tragedies, histories, enterludes, 
morralls, pastoralls, stage plaies, and such other lyke as they have already studied, 
or hereafter shall use or study, as well for tlie recreacion of our lovinge subjectes, 
as for our solace and pleasure, when wee shall thinke good to see them duringe 
our pleasure ; And the said comedies, tragedies, histories, enterludes, morralls, 
l)astoralls, stage playes, and suche like, to sliew and exercise publikly, when the 
infecion of the plague shall decrease to the nomber of thirty weekly within our 
Citie of London and the liberties therof, aswell within there now usuall howsen 
called the Curtayne and the Bores head, within our County of Midd. as in any 
other play-iiouse not used by others, by the said Thomas Greene erected, or by 
hym hereafter to be builte, And also within any townehalls or mouthalls, or other 
conveinyent places, within the liberties and freedomes of any cittie, universitie, 
towne, or boroughe whatsoever within our said realmes and domynyons." 

There was a messuage called the Boar's Head, situated on the Bankside, 
which belonged to Henslow the dramatist. According to an early MS,, there 
were inns so called in " Ould Lish Strete, at Criplegate, in Estcheape, in "West 
Sraithtield, and behind the Exchange." Two of these inns are mentioned in a 
very curious enumeration of taverns, in an old poem called, Newes from Bartholraew 

There hath beene great sale and utterance of wine. 

Besides beere and ale, and ipocras fine, 

In every country, region, and nation ; 

Chefely at Billingsgate, at the Salutation, 

And Bores Head, neere London Stone, 

The Swan at Dowgate, a taverne wellknowne, 

The Miter in Cheape, and then the Bull Head, 

And many like places that make noses red ; 

Tlie Bores Head in Old Eish-street, three Cranes in the Yintree, 

And now of late, St. Martin's in the Sentree ; 

The Wind-mill in Lothbury, the Ship at the Exchange, 

King's Head in New Eish-streete, where roysters do range ; 

The Mermaid in Cornhill ; Eed Lion in the Strand, 

Three Tuns Newgate Market, Old Eish-street, at the Swan. 

At the great fire of London, in 1666, the Boar's Head inn was utterly 
destroyed ; but a new one, built of brick, the door in the centre, surmounted by 
a window, over which was placed a boar's head, cut in stone, with the initials, 
I. T., of the landlord, and the date, 1668, of the rebuilding. This genuine relic 
of the second, not Shakespeare's, Boar's Head, is still preserved at the Guildhall. 
Other relics of this celebrated inn are of a more doubtful character. Two 
of the latter are thus described by an anonymous writer, — " Two memorial reliques 
of the tavern and its former boon companions still remain at the church of 
St. Michael's, Crooked-lane ; both are of old date, and, if the tales of the gossip 



neighbourhood may be credited, of most unquestionable authenticity. The first 
of these is a huge iron tobacco-box, which the vestry monarchs are said to have 
used from its first presentation up to the present hour, in all their meetings, when 
they thought it requisite to eat, drink, and 
smoke, for the benefit of their neighbours. 
On the outside of this iron implement is 
portrayed the Boar's Head Tavern, before the 
door of which, the whole convivial group is 
seated at their usual occupation of feast and 
revel — no bad memorandum by the by, for a 
modern churchwarden. It is impossible to mis- 
take the characters of the group, unless a man 
were like old Gobbo, ' high gravel blind,' for, — 
on the bottom of each chair, — the name of the 
person is inscribed ; an excellent hint to painters 
in general, and one which would save a world 
of trouble both to them and their admirers. 
Upon the inside of the cover is an inscription, nearly obliterated, signifying that 
the box was the gift of Sir Hichard Gore, for the use of the vestry meetings at the 
Boar's Head Tavern ; it, moreover, goes on to state that the said box was repaired 
and beautified by his successor, Mr. John Packard, 1767. The second relique is a 
drinking cup, or goblet ; it is a lineal descendant of the Boar's Head, from whom 
the vestry inherited it, at what time the legendary gossips say not, but we presume 
it must have been at the breaking up of the tavern, when the old Boar may be 
literally said to have died, and been after bricked up in the wall like a mummy in 
its case, where he stands as a memento to posterity. This cup, however, has no 
inscription or figures that connect it with the merry times, yet even this remote 
relationship is enough to give it a value in the eyes of the true antiquarian." 
Another supposititious relic is an oaken carving of a boar's head, in a framework 
formed of two boars' tusks, with a date pricked on it of 1566, and an inscription 
of very doubtful antiquity ascribing its ownership to William Broke, landlord of 
the Boar's Head in that year. It is a small carving, of a few inches only in 
diameter, and is supposed to have been suspended somewhere in the original 

JFhen you breathe in your watering. 

In ed. 1633, hreatlie is altered to break. GiflPord has shown that there is no 
ground for the filthy interpretation of this passage which Steevens chose to give. 
To breathe in your loatering is, to stop and take breath when you are drinking. 
Thus in the old MS. play of Timon of Athens, 

we also do enact 

That all hold up their heads and laugh aloud, 

Briuh much at one draught; breathe not in their drink. 

That none go out to 

The following passage, from Samuel Uowlands' Letting of Humours Blood in 
the Head-vaine, &c. 1600, which was first pointed out by Sir Walter Scott in a 
reprint of that collection, will fully explain the phrase : 

Will is a right good fellow by this drinke, — 
Shall look into your vxiter well enough. 
And hath an eye that no man leaves a snuflFe ; 
A p — of piecemeal drinking William sayes. 
Play it aicay, we'll have no stoppes and stayes. 



Blownc drinke is odious, what man can disgest it ? 
No faithfull drunkard but he doth detest it. 

Thus also in Peacham's Compleat Gentleman, p. 194 : — " If he dranke off his 
cups cleanely, tooh not his wind in his draught, spit not, left nothing in the pot, 
nor spilt any upon the ground, he had the prize," &c. — Singer. 

They cry — hem ! 

Pern, ed. 1632. To cry hem ! was a jovial exclamation. It was not fallen 
into disuse in the last century. When Brome's Jovial Crew was revived with 
songs, 1733, the following was one of them : 

There dwelt an old fellow at "Waltham cross. 

Who merrily sung though he lived by the loss ; 

He cheared up his heart when his goods went to wrack, 

With a hem hoys hem, and a cup of old sack. — Boswell. 

This pennyworth of sugar. 

It appears from the following passage in Look About You, 1600, and some 
others, that the drawers kept sugar folded up in papers, ready to be delivered to 
those who called for sack : 

but do you hear ? 

Bring sugar in ichite paper, not in brown. 

Shakespeare might perhaps allude to a custom mentioned by Decker, in the 
Gul's Horn Book, 1609 : " Enquire what gallants sup in the next roome, and if 
they be any of your acquaintance, do not you (after the city fashion) send them in 
a pottle of wine, and your name siceetened in two pittifid papers of sugar, with 
some filthy apologie cram'd into the mouth of a drawer," &c. — Steevens. 

By an tinder-sldnher . 

A tapster ; an under-drawer. Shink is drinlc, and a shinJcer is one that serves 
drinh at table. Schenhen, Dutch, is to fill a glass or cup ; and schenker is a cup- 
hearer, one that tcaits at tahle to fill the glasses. An under-sMnher is, therefore, 
an under-drawer. — Steevens. 

Giles Fletcher, in his Busse Commonwealth, 1591, p. 13, speaking of a town 
built on the south side of Moskoa, by Basilius the emperor, for a garrison of 
soldiers, says : " — to whom he gave privilege to drinke mead and beer at the drye 
or prohibited times, when other Busses may drinke nothing but water ; and for 
that cause called this new citie by the name of Naloi, that is, shink or poure in.'" 
So, in Ben Jonson's Poetaster, Act IV. Sc. III. : 

Alh. I'll ply the table with nectar, and make 'em friends. 
Her. Heaven is like to have but a lame skinker. — Beed. 

^'^ Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon. 

The custom of naming the different rooms of an inn, formerly universal in 
England, is still retained in many parts of the country. " Score a pint of sacke in 
the Conney," Jonson's Bartholomew Fair. " Score a gallon of claret in the 
Pomegranat," Knave in Graine new Yampt, 1640. " A quart of canary in the 
Bose, score," Mistaken Husband, 1675. "A quart of sack in the Three Tuns," 
London Prodigal. In Cokain's Poems, 1658, are some lines on " a room in an 
ale-house that we call the Apollo." In the London Chaunticleres, 1659, the 
tapster of an inn thus enumerates his morning's work, — '* I have cut two dozen of 
tosts, broacht a new barrell of ale, washt all the cups and flaggons, made a fire 



i'th' George, draind all the beer out of th' Half Moon the company left o' th' floore 
last night, wip'd down all the tables, and have swept 
every room." Again, in the Eair Maid of the West, 
— " Shall I stay here to score a pudding in the 
Half-Moon, and see my mistress at the mainyard, 
with her sails up, and spread ? No ; it shall be seen 
that I, who have been brought up to draw wine, will 
see what water the ship draws, or I'll bewray the 
voyage." The Half-Moon tavern in the Strand 
is mentioned in the Frolick, a MS. comedy, dated 
1671. The old method of scoring ale or wine is 
illustrated by the annexed woodcut. 

Anon, anon, sir. 

This was the coming, sir, of the waiters in Shakespeare's time. In Summer's 
Last Will and Testament, Harvest says, " Why, friend, I am no tapster to say, 
anon, anon, sir" So, in Florios Second Frutes, 1591, — " Bring some wine, and a 
manchet, and a napkin. — Anon, anon." In Brathwait's Strappado for the Divell, 
1615, a drawer is termed a " singuler artist in pewter language, and an observant 
linguist for anon, anon, sir." Again, in the Match at Midnight, 1633, — " the 
more wine, boy, the nimble anon, anon, sir." The drawer, in the Miseries of 
Enforced Marriage, says, " anon, anon, sir," to which another, misapprehending 
him, replies, — "anon, goodman rascal? must we stay your leisure? give't us by 
and by." 

Others say, if we had white aprons on. 
We would be like unto Anon, Anon, 
What is it gentlemen you please to drinke ? 

The Knave of Harts, 1613. 
The vintners trade were hardly worth a rush. 
Unable to hang up a signe, or bush ; 
And were't not for this small forgotten graine 
Their conjuring at midnight would be vaine. 
Anon, anon, would be forgotten soone. 
And he might score a pudding in the Moone. 

The Worlies of Taylor the Water-Poet, 1630. 
Hod. No money ? Can taverns stand without anon, anon ? fiddlers live 
without scraping ? taflFeta girls look plump without pampering ? — The Spanish 

A drawer sleeping under the pulpit, the preacher 
beat his desk so hard that the drawer, suddenly 
awaked, start up and cried openly in the church, 
— Anon, anon, sir. — A Banquet of Jests new and 
old, 1657. 

The clinhing of peiDter. 

The annexed engraving represents a pewter 
mug which was used in an English tavern of the 
seventeenth century. 


In Barrett's Alvearie, or Quadruple Dictionary, 
1580, 'A puhe colour is explained as being a colour 
between russet and black, and is rendered in Latin 
pullus. Again, in Drant's translation of the 



eighth Satire of Horace, 1507: — "nigra succinctam vadere palla, — ytuckde 
in pithishe iVoclvC." In a small book entitled the Order of my Lorde 
Maior, &c., for their Meetings and Wearing of theyr Apparel throughout 
the Yeere, printed in 1580 : " the maior, &c. are commanded to appeare 
on Good Eryday in their peiche goii-iws, and without their chaynes and typetes." 
Shelton, in his translation of Don Quixote, p. 2, says : " the rest and remnant of 
his estate was spent on a jerkine of fine puke" edit. 1012. In Salmon's Chymist's 
Shop Laid Open, there is a receipt to make a puhe colour. The ingredients are 
tlie vegetable gall and a large proportion of water ; from which it should appear 
that the colour was grct/. In the time of Shakespeare the most expensive silk 
stockings were worn ; and in King Lear, by way of reproach, an attendant is 
called a icorsted-stoching knave. So that, after all, perhaps the word puhe refers 
to the quality of the stuff rather than to the colour. — Steevens. 

Dugdale's Warwickshire, 1730, p. 400, speaks of " a gown of black ptihe." 
The statute 5 and 0 of Edward YI. c. vi. mentions cloth of these colours " piiJce, 
brown-blue, blacks." Hence puhe seems not to be a perfect or full black, 
but it might be a russet blue, or rather, a russet black, as Mr. Steevens intimates 
from Barrett's Alvearie. — Toilet. 

If Shelton be accurate, as I think he is, in rendering velar te by puke ; puke 
must signify russet wool that has never been dyed. — Henley. 

^° Caddis-garter. 

Caddis was, I believe, a kind of coarse ferret. The garters of Shakespeare's 
time were worn in sight, and consequently were expensive. He who would submit 
to wear a coarser sort was probably called by this contemptuous distinction, which 
I meet with again in Glapthorne's Wit in a Constable, 1039 : — " dost hear, — my 
honest caddis-garters ?" This is an address to a servant. Again, in Warres, or 
the Peace is Broken : " — fine piecd silke stockens on their legs, tyed up smoothly 
with caddis garters — ." — Steevens. 

" At this day," (about the year 1025,) says the continuator of Stowe's Chronicle, 
" men of mean rank weare garters and shoe-roses of more than five pound price."" 
Very rich garters were anciently worn below the knee ; and the following lines 
from Warner's Albion's England, 1002, may throw a light on the following 
passage : — "Then wore they — Garters oi listes ; but now of silk, some edged deep 
with gold." In a manuscript account-book kept by Henslowe, step-father to the 
wife of Alleyn the player, is the following article : " Lent unto Thomas Hewode, 
the 1 of September 1002, to bye him a payre of silver garters, ijs. vid." Caddis was 
worsted galloon. — Malone. 

Your brown hastard is your only drinh. 

Bastard was a kind of sweet wine. The prince finding the w^aiter not able, or 
not wilhng to understand his instigation, puzzles him with unconnected prattle, 
and drives him away. — Johnson. 

In an old piece, entitled, Wine, Beer, Ale, and Tobacco, the second edition, 
1030, Beer says to Wine: — "Wine well born? Did not every man call you 
bastard hvii t'other day?" So, in Match me in London, " — Love you bastard? 
— No wines at all." Again, in Every Woman in her Humour, 1009 : 

" Canary is a jewel, and a fig for brown bastard^ 

Again, in the Honest Whore, a comedy by Decker, 1035 : " — What wine 
sent they for ? — Mo. Bastard idne ; for if it had been truely begotten, it would 
not have been asham'd to come in. Here's sixpence to pay for the nursing the 
bastard:' Again, in the Eair Maid of the West, 1031 ;— I'll furnish you with 



bastard, white or hroimi,^^ &c. In the ancient metrical romance of the Squyr of 
Low Degre, is the following catalogue of wines : 

You shall have Eumney and Malmesyne, 

Both Ypocrasse and Vernage wyne : 

Mountrose, and wyne of Greke, 

Both Algrade and Respice eke, 

Antioclie and Bastarde^ 

Pyment also and Garnarde : 

Wyne of Greke and Muscadell, 

Both Clare-Pyment and Eochell, 

The rede your stomach to defye, 

And pottes of Osey set you by. — Steevens. 

The author of Maison Eustique, translated by Markham, 1616, p. 635, says : 

" such wines are called mnugrell, or hastard wines, which (betwixt the sweet 

and astringent ones) have neither manifest sweetness, nor manifest astriction, but 
indeed participate and contain in them both qualities." — Toilet. 

Barrett, however, in his Alvearie, or Quadruple Dictionary, 1580, says, that 
" hastarde is muscadell, sweet wine." — Steevens. 

So also, in Stowe's Annals, 867 : " When an argosie came with Greek and 
Spanish wines, viz. muscadel, malmsey, sack, and bastard," &c. — Malone. 

Bastard wines are said, by Olaus Magnus, to be Spanish wines in general. 
He speaks of them with almost as much enthusiasm as Falstaff does of sack : 
"Vina igitur Hispanica etsi Bastarda nomine, a negotiatoribus in aquilonem 
delata appellantur : tamen sapore, colore, et odore, et exceUentiam dulcedinis ab 
omnibus legitima reputantur. Est enim suave, pingue, molliter crassum, viva- 
citate firmissimum, nare violentum, colore quam perspicuum ; quod ita redolet ore 
ructatum ut merito illi excellentior aliqua sestimatio debeatur," &c. Olai Magni 
Gent. Septentrionalium Historia. Basilice, 1567, p. 520. — Boswell. 

Harrison, in his Description of England, p. 232, speaking of brawn, says, 
" With us it is accounted a great peece of service at the table from November 
untill Eebruarie be ended ; but cheeflie in the Christmas time ; with the same also 
we begin our dinners ech dale after other : and because it is somewhat hard of 
digestion, a draught of malveseie, bastard, or muscadell, is usuallie droonke after 
it, where either of them are convenientlie to be had : otherwise the meaner sort 
content themselves with their owne drinke, which at that season is generallie verie 
strong, and stronger indeed than in all the yeare beside." See also a curious 
enumeration of wines in an early poem printed in the Nugse Poeticee, p. 10, — 

And I will have also wyne de Eyne, 

With new maid Clarye, that is good and fyne, 

Muscadell, terantyne, and hastard, 

With Ypocras and Pyment comyng afterwarde. 

In a receipt in Warner's Book of Cookery, p. 90, the direction is, to " take a 
galone of swete wyne, oseye, or bastard, and cast thereto," &c. The following 
list of the wines most in fashion in former times, I transcribe from the small 
treatise called The Boohe of Carving, p. 4, appended to The Good Husic'ifes 
Jewell : " Eed wine, white wine, claret wyne, caprick, campolet, rennish wine, 
malmesey, bastard, tyre, rumney, muscadel, clary, raspis, vernage, cute, piment, 
and ipocras." 

It is stated as a reason for a new regulation, that in exchange for their fish, 
the traders not only forced on the poor fishermen, articles that were useless, but 
some that were pernicious, such as brande vin, (literally, burnt wine, or brandy,) 
romeneau, and bastar. If this last term really means bastard wine, I confess 1 
IX. 46 



(lid not expect to have met with such an article in Lapland. — Leenis Ilistory, 
p. 355. 

In Delpino's Dictionary, this wine is said to be made of raisins ; and probably, 
sometimes, of many, various, and irregular articles. It is certain, the term is by 
no means uncommon among the Spaniards. And the reason and origin of its 
name may, I think, be easily found, from the resemblance of it in its composition 
to bastard. — Boucher. 

Some drinking the neat wine of Orleance, some the Gascony, some the 
Burdeaux ; there wanted neither sherry-sack, nor Charnico, Maligo, nor Peeter See 
me, ambercolour'd Candy, nor liquorish Ipocras, brown beloved Bastard, fat 
Aligant, or any quicke spirited liquor that might draw their witts into a circle. — 
HnttorCs Biscovery of a London Monster called the BlacJce Bogg of Neiogate, 
n. d. 

Bastard is in vertue somewhat like to muskadell, and may also instead thereof 
be used ; it is in goodnesse so much inferiour to muskadell as the same is to 
malmsey; the use thereof is likewise hurtfuU to young and hot bodies. — Tenner s 
Via Recta ad Vitam Long am, 1637. 

Enter Quichly, 

The Host is here simply termed " Vintner" in the old copies. Prince Henry 
alludes to him, as Mistress Quickly 's husband, in the third act ; but he must be 
supposed to have died shortly afterwards, for she is introduced as a widow in the 
Second Part of Henry the Eourth. 

Give me a cup of saclc, hoy. 

In the Dering manuscript there is here inserted, in the autograph of Sir E. 
Dering, the following stage-direction, — "Exit Erancis, and enters with sacke and 
a glasse." The annexed engraving of a sack-glass, capacious enough for Ealstaff, 
is copied from a wood-cut on the title-page of a pamphlet en